


The Inverse

by SpiderKatana



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha!Spidey, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Being an alpha is not an excuse to be an asshole, Deadpool is violent but he's still very sweet and Peter doesn't know how to handle that, M/M, Nobody ever gives Wade a fair chance until Spidey, Omega Oppression, Omegas aren't weak, Precious Peter Parker, The Non-con tag is from before: Peter wouldn't do that to Wade, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade has been through some serious shit it's so sad, Wade is a sweetheart, omega!Wade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-05-20 20:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderKatana/pseuds/SpiderKatana
Summary: Deadpool doesn't have to try very hard to hide his second gender anymore because ever since Weapon X, no one in their right mind would ever believe that Wade Wilson was an omega. It doesn't matter anyway, because Wade knows no Alpha would keep a male omega. No alpha WANTS one, much less one that's as scarred and unstable as he is...Apparently, Spiderman was born to break every rule Wade has ever known.





	1. Hope Is A Dangerous Thing

**Author's Note:**

> So.... I noticed that most Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamic fics in the Spideypool tend to cast Wade as an alpha that either protects Peter or shows Peter that not every Alpha is an ass. And don't get me wrong, I have mad respect and love for some of those fics, but I keep thinking of everything Wade has gone through and the idea of him suffering all of that because of his omega status was an idea I couldn't get out of my head. 
> 
> This is also the first fic I'm posting ever, so please be kind and, umm, let me know if you spot any mistakes? You don't have to, I'll be glad if any of you even take the time to read this, but yeah.... 
> 
> Hope you like it!

He was sniffling pretty hard and he knew it, but he just couldn't seem to stop and it was embarrassing because big boys weren't supposed to cry over dumb things and this was super dumb. Like the dumbest. He angrily wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

 

“Wade, darling?”

 

Wade froze. Slowly, very slowly, he let his eyes drift up to see his mom coming his way in large strides.

 

Soft, warm arms wrapped around him and Wade bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into more tears. He loved his mom’s hugs. They were safe and comfy and perfect. He also hated them just a little because they always happened when he was upset and if he was already upset, they just made everything feel like it was too much. So, yeah, he hated the hugs.

 

He didn't hate them enough to push her away, though. His little arms held her tight and his fists clenched in the back of her shirt as a tear slipped down his cheek and he swallowed.

 

Her hand rubbed soothingly down his back and he buried his face in her shoulder.

 

“What happened, my baby boy?” she asked, her voice soft and caring, sweet like honey. His mom was perfect like that. She always knew just how to say things.

 

Little Wade choked back a small sob.

 

“D-Daddy-" he bit back a low cry and held onto her a little tighter. “Daddy says I’m gonna- gonna be an… an _omega,”_ he whispered.

 

Her arms went tense around him and she was silent for a long time and Wade couldn't help it. He let out a small sob. She wasn't denying it. He was going to be _weak._ Daddy said so. The kids at school kept picking on him because he was little. _Like a girl,_ they said.

 

 _Like an omega,_ they said.

 

“Oh, Wade,” his mom whispered. He pulled back to look at her, at the tears in her eyes.

 

His heart was sinking, and his stomach, and everything was so much blurrier than before.

 

“Baby boy,” she said softly, her right hand wiping a tear track lightly from his cheek, her left hand squeezing his free hand tightly now, little strands of her golden blonde hair sticking to her neck with the tears that were falling silently. “You listen to me _.”_

 

Her voice was a lot deeper and Wade stood up as tall as he could and tried his hardest to pay attention. He looked up at her with wide watery eyes.

 

“Omega boys are very _very_ rare. Your Daddy… he can be a little mean sometimes, but he just wants to protect you, make you stronger like the Alpha I _know_ you're going to be.” Her hand carded through his hair lightly and he leaned into the touch, blinking to clear his eyes. When she kept talking, her words were slower, like she didn't want to say them out loud. “And if… if _not_ , then there's nothing wrong with being an… with being anything _else.”_

 

Wade’s chest felt tight. She couldn't even say the word out loud. It was that bad. It made him so much more scared.

 

Because omega boys were rare, but omega boys weren't _wanted._

 

Omega girls were still sort of rare, but they were protected. They were _loved_.

 

Omega boys were thrown away.

 

Everyone knew that. Even the kids at school knew that. Even in the third grade. It was solid fact.

 

Wade could only hope that his mom was right. Wade hadn't presented yet. No one presented before they turned sixteen. He could still hope.

 

His mom had said Wade would be an alpha.

 

She _lied._

 

_____________________

  


Wade was nine when his mom died.

 

It didn't come as a big surprise. He'd known for a long time that she was sick.

 

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

 

He had seen her waste away on bright white sheets that smelled as lifeless as the rest of the hospital. He had gone with his Dad to visit every day. He had seen his Dad holding onto his Mom’s hand and showing emotions for her that he never showed for _Wade._ But Wade pushed that pain away. He pushed it away because his Mom kept talking about going away, and Wade didn't want her to go away. He didn't want to be alone. His mom was everything to him.

 

Wade was there when the doctor told her the treatment had failed. He wasn't supposed to be, the doctors told his Dad to send him outside, but his Dad said Wade could handle it if he didn't want to be a sniveling omega. Wade stayed.

 

He cried. His Dad sneered at him and it only made him cry harder, his face buried into his Mom’s shoulder as she held him, her hug nowhere near as tight as it used to be.

 

His mom gave him a stuffed animal for his ninth birthday. A unicorn, white with a golden horn and a blend of blues and purples for the tail and mane. She said it was her favorite as a kid and she said that if he ever missed her, he could hold it and she would always be with him. Whenever he needed her.

 

Wade smiled so wide it hurt because even if his Dad hated it, the toy was _special._ It was his mom’s favorite and that made it the most important to Wade.

 

And then she sent Wade one last soft, tired smile, squeezed his hand, and Wade felt her hand go limp in his. He watched with wide terrified eyes as her eyes grew a shade duller under the bright hospital lights and the machine flatlined. Her heart just stopped beating.

 

He didn't remember the nurses or the doctors rushing in. He didn't remember the chest compressions as they tried to save her. He didn't remember what words his Dad was screaming at the hospital staff.

 

Wade only remembered two things about that moment. His arms were locked and trembling around his birthday present and the weight of his mother’s death _hurt._

 

His Dad didn't care that it hurt.

 

Dad didn't want to hear him cry like a _weak spineless omega._

 

Dad didn't accept it when Wade said that he wasn't old enough to present yet, that he could still be an _alpha._

 

The man wouldn't even give him a chance.

 

He started drinking. A lot. All of the time.

 

He hit Wade. He hit Wade and he didn't apologize and he _kept doing it_ and Wade wasn't strong enough to fight back, to not cry and that just pissed his Dad off more because it proved that Wade would never- could never- be an alpha.

 

Wade went to bed every night cold and alone and he didn't know what the tears he wept were _for_ anymore: the fact that he missed his mom’s warm hugs, the pain from his Dad’s beatings, or the terror heavy in his stomach when he wondered if maybe- just maybe- his Dad was right and Wade would present as an omega.

 

_________________________

  


Wade learned to lock himself in his room every year when his birthday passed, a chair crammed against the door so that his Dad wouldn't get in and beat him black and blue.

 

Sometimes his Dad managed to get into his room anyway.

 

Sometimes his hands would close around Wade’s neck until Wade felt his eyes rolling back, his blood from the other hits falling over his skin and onto the floor, his vision clouding with a veil of beautiful darkness.

 

Who was he kidding? It wasn't only sometimes.

 

It was _every_ time.

 

And sometimes Wade would stay awake just long enough to distantly hear his father crying on the wooden floor and whispering the annual choked-

 

_Happy Birthday, Wade._

 

______________________

  


Wade would have been a jock if he had the time for sports. He had a part time job since he was twelve in a factory, loading soda packs onto trucks and that made him strong enough, built enough, to handle anyone at school.

 

When he culminated, yeah _culminated_ because apparently middle schools don't like to call it graduation- pretentious bastards, from eighth grade, he was voted, “Most likely to be an Alpha,” in the yearbook.

 

He _glowed_ when he found out and spent the damn forty dollars on the book with his face in that spot just so he could show his Dad.

 

When Wade got home, his Dad was already drinking, but it didn't matter.

 

It didn't matter because Wade ran up to the coffee table and rushed to open the stupid book and turn to the page with his picture on it.

 

His Dad took a while to actually focus on the pages, but when he read the big red letters, outlined by a black text box, he-

 

He _smiled._

 

He smiled at Wade, bright and proud and in his inebriated state, he pulled his son in by his broadening shoulders and hugged him.

 

His Dad hugged him for the first time in his entire life.

 

Wade tried not to cry. He truly did.

 

He couldn't stop it from happening.

 

And in the blink of an eye, his father was swinging at him with a bottle of whiskey and Wade barely managed not to get glass shards in his head.

 

“You? They voted _you_ the most likely to present Alpha? When you cry as often as you do? When you can't even take a goddamn hit?” His father was screaming now, throwing more things his way and Wade ran.

 

Wade scrambled up the stairs to his room, narrowly avoiding the empty bottles thrown his way as the glass exploded on the walls by his head and some of it was embedded in his arm.

 

He slammed his door to protect himself from further injury, but not before he heard the hissed, “ _Don't make me laugh,”_ from the bottom of the stairs.

 

Wade no longer cried when he was afraid. It was harder not to cry when someone held him close, though. The last time he'd let someone hug him, it had been on his ninth birthday, when he was wrapped weakly in his mother’s arms. The day she died.

 

He'd let his father hug him. He had let himself _hope_ , but hope was _dangerous_ and Wade should have known better by now.

 

It was a mistake.

 

Wade was always making mistakes.

 

________________________

  


Wade hated living with his father, but he knew that he could be placed with someone worse if he reported the man, so he kept silent. He kept silent and prayed, asking a god he didn't know if he even believed in anymore, to please please _please_ let the man drown in his own puke as soon as possible.

 

Wade turned sixteen.

 

Most people presented somewhere in between their sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays. Most people did not present the moment they turned sixteen.

 

Evidently, Wade Winston Wilson was not most people.

 

His father had told him to get up early to make breakfast. Wade had nodded and set up his alarm.

 

It woke him at the right time, six thirty in the morning, and Wade tried to get out of bed.

 

He tried for about a half hour.

 

His legs weren't working right.

 

He could move them, but the second he tried to stand, his muscles gave out on him and his face met the floor. Painfully.

 

The hit came so unexpectedly, so hard, that Wade fell unconscious on his bedroom floor.

 

He woke up to the sounds of loud bellowing and heavy, angry footsteps rising up the stairs.

 

Wade felt that sinking sensation in his chest, the same one he felt every time he knew his father was angry with him. It never meant anything good for him.

 

He had not made breakfast. His father definitely wouldn't be happy with him. An unhappy father meant a bruised and bloody Wade. An angry father meant a broken bone.

 

Wade tried and failed to sit up on the floor, his entire body felt heavy, nauseous. Everything was spinning.

 

The door was thrown open and Wade managed to lift his head, even though it felt like it held the weight of the world, to look at his father, scared brown eyes meeting wide furious ones that slowly narrowed in an emotion Wade could hardly recognize in its intensity. The only reason he _could_ was because he'd seen it in lesser amounts so many times. Disappointment so deep it bordered on rage.

 

Wade blinked slowly, trying his hardest to speak, to form words, but his mouth wasn't cooperating. His father took one step into the room, breathed in and then bared his teeth in a way he only did when Wade had done something that would make him wish his father would take him to a hospital.

 

“ _Omega,”_ he gritted out, fists clenched at his side.

 

Wade decided in that moment that he definitely did not believe in God.

 

If God existed, he very obviously did not give two shits about Wade.

 

______________________

  


His father did not buy him heat suppressants or scent patches.

 

This meant that Wade was locked up in the house alone for his first heat and spent a week crying over the sheer agony and need that made his days seem like _months._

 

Because he didn't have suppressants, even after his heat passed, he still very obviously had the scent of an _omega._

 

School wasn't the same.

 

It would never be the same.

 

The guys who had once been his friends crowded him in bathrooms and the administrators, who had not had to deal with a male omega in over twenty years, told him to use the _girls_ restrooms to solve the problem.

 

He refused. Primarily because he was _not a girl,_ thank you very much. Secondly, because he didn't think it was necessary. That sort of thing was too embarrassing.

 

Wade thought he didn't have to go that far.

 

He thought he could handle some sexist assholes and then they would leave him alone.

 

He did _not_ think that the stress of the situation at school and the added stress of his home life would cause his next heat to come a week early.

 

He did _not_ plan to be in class when it happened, or to have every presented Alpha _including the teacher_ turn to look at him with a look of raw hunger in their gaze.

 

He didn't want any of them and suddenly three alphas were in a fight, drawing blood, over who would get the chance to take him before the fourth one laughed at them and said, “You're kidding, right? Just wait your _turn._ It's a _boy.”_

 

That guy walked right up to Wade and took off his scent patch. The overpowering scent of _alpha_ hit his system in a shocking _wave_.

 

Wade's legs collapsed underneath him. His breaths came short. There was a wetness spreading between his legs and a whimper caught in his throat.

 

“Look at how eager this bitch is.”

 

Wade couldn't tell who said it.

 

All he knew was that someone was screaming and then there were hands and they were _touching_ him and it was wrong wrong _wrong_ -

 

And then someone dipped their fingers into the back of his pants and Wade bit the closest thing he could.

 

Someone's shoulder.

 

An alpha’s shoulder.

 

The hand went away and the shoulder went away and there was a shout of, “What the _fuck?”_ but Wade didn't care.

 

He was let go in the guy’s surprise and he threw himself toward the door on shaky, dripping legs, barely registering the calls of shock or surprise behind him at his actions.

 

“How-? A bitch omega _never_ rejects an _alpha.”_

 

He whimpered as someone pulled him back by his hair, but then there was a fight and security guards that didn't smell like anything, _Betas,_ came rushing in and held off the alphas and someone put a shot of _something_ into his skin and Wade fell to darkness.

 

________________________

  


Wade was homeschooled.

 

Because his father refused to spend money on suppressants, the school deemed Wade a _disruption_ to the educational environment.

 

A distraction.

 

Like it was _his_ fault that the alphas had tried to sexually assault him in a public classroom. Like he _asked for it._

 

The way that the visiting administrator looked at him spoke volumes about the way people in the education system viewed him and people like him.

 

Wade could practically see the slur of “whore" on the guy’s tongue, just waiting to slip out.

 

It didn't matter that Wade was a _virgin._ No, of course not, why would it? He was a _male omega_ and obviously that made him a cock hungry slut.

 

The man didn't say anything untoward. He just _implied_ that Wade would be too much of a distraction for several of the alpha students in the school.

 

Wade was angry for several reasons.

 

There were at least three omega girls in that school and none of _them_ were being kicked out because of their second gender.

 

There were programs for omegas that couldn't afford suppressants to be turned to government funded suppliers and not _a single one of them_ had been suggested because his father would need to sign for Wade given that he was still a minor. It would have been so easy. All he had to do was sign his fucking name on a piece of paper.

 

None of the alphas that _attacked_ Wade were being questioned. They all had suppressors. If they had outright sexually assaulted a _female_ omega, they would have been sent to lock up immediately and held without bail until their trial. Wade wasn't even given the option of pressing charges. When he brought it up, both his father and the educational board representative in the fancy suit chuckled as if he had made a particularly funny _joke._

 

But what pissed Wade off the most was that when it was suggested that Wade was the one responsible for the incident and that his continued attendance would cause further disruptions, his father simply nodded stiffly with a grimace.

 

He _agreed._

 

Wade had long since wished that his father would drop dead, but just then he wished intensely that the day it happened, Wade could feel the life leave the man’s body through his fingertips.

 

Parents were supposed to love their children. They were supposed to protect them. His father was supposed to _be on his side._

 

But he wasn't.

 

No one was on Wade's side.

 

Not since his mother died.

 

___________________________

  


Wade had this big plan.

 

He was a real looker and one of the neighbors said that with his genetics, he might even land some rich alpha.

 

Wade didn't want a rich alpha.

 

But some alphas had _power_ and that was damn important.

 

All he needed were scent patches.

 

He would get suppressants if he could, but what he needed more than anything was scent patches. Or scent blockers if he got lucky enough.

 

What Wade needed was an escape plan.

 

He'd been through a horrifying heat a week earlier and this was the best time to get it done. He snuck into a house about a block away. He'd worn five sweaters and a hoodie to dull his scent. He knew an omega girl lived in the house. He found her suppressant pills in a cabinet in the kitchen, but he had to go to the bathroom in search of scent patches.

 

He grinned when he found not scent patches, but scent _blockers_. The kind that was made to inject into the outside of the thigh like an epi-pen.

 

It would last three weeks and Wade wouldn't smell like an _omega._

 

Wade didn't need three weeks.

 

All he needed was two _days._

 

He injected it and walked out of the bathroom.

The omega girl was there. Staring at him from her open doorway.

 

Wade froze. So did she.

 

And after a tense minute of staring at each other, she looked back and forth between his eyes and nodded. It was just one sharp motion, but Wade felt weak with relief.

 

He nodded back and ran out the back of the house, footsteps as silent as he could make them.

 

Apparently, he could count on _some_ omegas to help him.

 

Mary. He thought her name was Mary.

 

He would repay the favor somehow. Just not today.

 

It only took an hour on the bus to reach Toronto.

 

There was a recruiter there. For the American military. Alpha.

 

Wade had studied since his ninth birthday. He could pass the American citizenship test if he just had a chance. If someone could vouch for him and take care of it. He could be a soldier, he could fight, if only he was given a chance.

 

He knew the American government rarely took in omegas in their military, but they allowed it more often than the Canadian government did. Canadians were supposedly more protective of their less domineering genders. Supposedly.

 

Wade knew that only applied to the _women._

 

But the United States… they were of the opinion that if an omega could withstand the same rigorous training as an alpha, then it was their choice. Wade could definitely withstand it. He'd been toning his body since he was twelve.

 

All he needed was to be accepted into the fold. It was much easier to get in as a Beta, though. Wade would have to alter his registered status once he'd gotten into the training program, but that was irrelevant. What mattered was being considered seriously in the first place.

 

He was.

 

He explained his… unwanted status at home… to the recruiter and told the man he'd sign the moment he was eighteen.

 

The recruiter understood. In fact, he took one calculating look at Wade’s strong build, asked him for his address and full name, and told Wade that he would be considered for a special branch of operations.

 

Wade was back at his father’s house the next day.

 

It was just a bit funny, in a sad way.

 

His father had been so drunk he hadn't even noticed Wade was gone.

 

__________________________

  


Wade was turning eighteen in a week.

 

He was anxious and almost happy.

 

Sure, his father would kick him out, but Wade had been expecting that since the beginning of high school.

 

He just kept thinking about his future in the military.

 

Over the past year and a half, he'd become friends with the female omega a block away. Marina. Not Mary. Her name was Marina.

 

He'd told her about his plans, and she'd helped him study so he could pass his online high school exams early. He had completed his coursework a month ago and she had let down a string of knotted up bedsheets from her window so Wade could climb up to her room and they could drink together.

 

That was something they did, where he snuck up to see her and she either gave him food or drinks or just helped him study.

 

In return, he went along with the rumor that she was dating him so that at the very least the Betas and polite Alphas left her alone. Whenever he wasn't close to a heat and an alpha tried to force himself close to her, Wade beat them down mercilessly and they didn't come back.

 

That rarely happened, though, because she was a _female_ and any family would be _mortified_ to hear that their alpha son or daughter had been so disrespectful. Female omegas were _prized._

 

Sometimes Marina complained about it, but Wade couldn't muster up much sympathy considering the world silently (and sometimes not-so-silently) labelled him as walking stain on the earth.

 

They had actually tried dating at one point. She didn't want to lose her virginity to an alpha that would try to claim her on the spot and he definitely didn't want an alpha for _his_ first time, so they'd dated casually. It was nice while it lasted, but she knew his plans. He would be in the American military. She would stay in Canada and go to University. It was better to let go before either of them became too attached. That didn't mean they couldn't be friends. At this point, she was the only person he _could_ consider a friend.

 

Wade was snapped from his thoughts when he heard harsh whispering from his father's room.

 

Wade had been forced to quit his job, but he still made a habit of not being home in the evening and maybe his father didn't know he was there because Wade heard… he heard…

 

“Twenty grand. I know what the boy is worth. I know I could get more from your competitor, _Francis._ Think of this as a,” he paused, “sign of good faith. Take twenty grand off my debt and you get what you've been asking for for the last two years.”

 

Francis.

 

An icy weight settled in Wade's gut and he slowly, silently, made his way back to his room.

 

No.

 

He would not be going with Francis. _Fuck you very much, Father._

 

Francis had gone to school with his father. He was some kind of scientist and he came over to drink with his father sometimes. Supposedly. Wade was skeptical. The guy was much younger than his father. In fact, he didn't look all that much older than Wade.

 

He had always been creepy, but ever since Wade had presented, ever since the clear sweet scent of _omega_ rolled off his skin, Francis had stared at him like he wanted to study him. Like he wanted to take Wade apart and find out how the _blood travelled under the skin._

 

Wade shivered.

 

He got his old backpack from his closet and shoved a couple of pants in, two black t-shirts, and three pairs of underwear. He looked at his few belongings and his breath stuttered as he laid eyes on his old unicorn plushie, hidden among some of his tattered shirts.

 

_“Mommy will always be with you, my baby boy. Just hold on. I'll be with you, I promise.”_

 

Wade quickly shoved it into his backpack, pulled on a hoodie and opened the door slightly to check that his father wasn't out yet.

 

He wasn't.

 

Wade crept out the front door and headed toward Marina’s place.

 

He whistled when he got to her window.

 

She let down the sheet rope.

 

“What happened? He didn't kick you out early, did he?”

 

She sounded worried about that possibility.

 

Wade laughed bitterly, hollowly.

 

“He's going to try to _sell me.”_

 

It took a while for her to believe him because _What kind of person sells their kid?_ , but when he explained what he heard, when he told her about _Francis,_ he watched the way the horror of it all drained her face of color.

 

They agreed that Wade would stay there with her, maybe sleep under her bed so her parents wouldn't walk in and see him. They didn't approve of him, what with him being a male omega.

 

They were not expecting his father to come looking for him in the middle of the second night.

 

He never noticed when Wade was gone before.

 

Apparently, the fact that he had a twenty grand payout depending on Wade's presence was enough to get him to stand up and pay attention.

 

His father stormed into the household, knocking out the poor mother, shooting Marina’s Dad in the chest, stomping up to the defenceless girl’s room.

 

He didn't attack her. People rarely ever attacked female omegas.

 

He simply shoved her away from the bed and dragged Wade out from underneath it in two swift movements.

 

If Wade's skull knocked loudly against the corner of the bed’s base, his father paid it no mind. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants and started kicking Wade in the ribs, all the while screeching obscenities about what a weak, useless, _defenceless omega_ he was.

 

There was pain, and then there was a deafening sound that reverberated off of the walls and echoed into the street, and then there was blood. So. Much. Blood.

 

Wade had never seen so much blood before that wasn't his own. It was all over the room, sprayed in little arcs on the ceiling, in splatters all over the sheets, in a growing puddle on the floor.

 

His father was on the floor.

 

His father was a still warm dead corpse on the floor and his friend, his friend had the gun still pointed at the corpse in her trembling hands.

 

“Call the police,” were the first words out of his mouth.

 

His voice sounded numb.

 

She broke down in sobs, but Wade didn't cry.

 

How peculiar. He was told all omegas cried at the sight of death.

 

He didn't feel like crying. He didn't feel anything. He felt so numb.

 

She wasn't calling the police or an ambulance. She was shaking and dropping the gun and then dropping to her knees, but she wasn't calling and Wade had heard a gunshot earlier so her parents were most likely injured and it was all his fault and Marina had killed someone and now she was in shock because she couldn't handle it and Wade…

 

Wade felt _nothing._

 

He got her cell phone from the nightstand.

 

He called the police.

 

He told them the address, he told them what happened, and he gritted his teeth when he heard the operator snort as he explained the situation. The unvoiced, _Oh? A male omega, are you?_ clear in her tone.

 

He got his bag and left.

 

If Marina’s parents died she would hate him.

 

If they didn't, she still wouldn't be able to ever look at Wade again without remembering what she had done for him.

 

Wade changed his clothes in an alleyway.

 

He couldn't afford to be stopped because of blood.

 

He also couldn't very well take the clothes to a laundromat.

 

Wade had two weeks until his next heat.

 

He could only hope desperately that the stress wouldn't make it come early.

 

He headed to Toronto.

 

He would wait the last five days in homeless shelters, maybe.

 

By some _miracle,_ his heat did not come early.

 

He already had his citizenship exam set for his birthday, and they scored him on the spot.

 

They wouldn't do that for most applicants, but the branch Wade was being considered for took precedence over others.

 

He passed with flying colors. His application was approved. He was sent to train.

 

His heat hit the day he arrived in Washington D.C.

 

He was nearly kicked out of the program.

 

But his supervisors found out what happened with his father and that made them _incredibly_ interested.

 

He was an orphan.

 

He had no one waiting at home.

 

He was a deceptively strong lone _omega_ and if they could train him, he could be one of their greatest assets in foreign territory.

 

The omega stigma was largely less popular in European and Asian countries. Foreign nations tended to underestimate their _women_ more than they underestimated omegas. Which was equally ridiculous, but Wade had long since come to the realization that the world as a whole was _stupid_ and that wasn't going to change.

 

 _But you can,_ they said. _You can change. You can become_ invincible.

 

Years later, Wade would snort at the realization that they had no idea just what they were helping him become.

 

______________________________

  


They had two female omega operatives. Three Betas, two female, one male. There were seven alphas. Six male. One female.

 

Wade was the only male omega operative.

 

Oddly enough, the singular female alpha became protective? No, territorial, around him. She would hold nothing back in their training sessions, she wouldn't hesitate to hurt him, but she also wouldn't allow any of the other Alphas anywhere near him without a supervisor.

 

It made him uncomfortable because he _could_ handle it on his own. His training sessions weren't during heats and he could handle _any_ Alpha outside of his heat. Especially since he had suppressants now that could shut it down even if it was a painful option.

 

Things came to a head when she offered to stay with him during his heat.

 

Wade had never been with an alpha. He didn't think her as much of a threat as the male alphas because she didn't have a cock so he naively felt like she couldn't take anything from him against his will. He felt safe with her.

 

He accepted her offer.

 

Wade let himself hope for a less painful heat for once.

 

Another mistake.

 

Wade made so many mistakes.

 

The sex was good. Insanely good. Wade almost let himself lose coherency completely. He almost let go. He desperately wanted to and yet he _couldn't_ because she was holding him down. She kept growling out omega. Omega, omega, _omega._ Her scent was- it was- _wrong._ She smelled good but there was something underneath, this possessiveness, this _hunger_ that he was too scared to sate.

 

He told her to _stop._

 

He tried so hard to push her away but she wouldn't budge, she wouldn't _get off of him,_ his muscles wouldn't cooperate and he wasn't strong enough to push her off in his heat and she _smiled_ at his weakness and leaned forward to scent him and then he felt teeth dragging over his pulse, he felt her jaw opening wide and-

 

He _threw her across the room._

 

She fell to the floor, the shock of his strength in his pure desperation written over her face.

 

Wade didn't wait for her to get over it.

 

He pulled the gun from under his pillow and he shot a hole in the wall three inches next to her head.

 

She flinched and she ducked for the door.

 

Wade’s legs barely managed to get up and lead him to lock the door.

 

He was panting in exhaustion, in need, by the time he got back to the bed and collapsed.

 

She had tried to bite him. She tried to mark him. To _claim_ him _without his consent._

 

Wade didn't let go of the gun for the entire duration of his heat.

 

Alphas could claim an omega in the heat of the moment, but they could also _walk away afterwards_ and sever the bond.

 

An omega didn't mark an alpha.

 

Only alphas could claim an omega.

 

She could have…. She would have _ruined his life._ He would have been alone for the rest of his life if she had marked him, or forced to stay with her forever, to follow her every word because he would become so attached that the thought of her walking away would be terrifying. He'd read horror stories of love-struck omegas that _killed themselves_ when their alpha abandoned them. The depression was so acute that omegas could rarely recover.

 

Wade reported her.

 

She was let off with a warning.

 

She almost ruined his life and she got to walk away with a mere _slap on the hand._

 

Wade threw himself into his training.

 

He spent hours studying every facet of foreign languages. He forced out every ounce of strength he had in every training session. He suppressed as many heats as he could without hindering his performance, and when he started showing side effects, he went through his heats alone, locked away with a gun in trembling hands. During his heats, he fought off his arousal as much as possible, building up his endurance so it wouldn't fail him entirely if a heat ever hit him at a bad time. He had to make sure he could escape.

 

He had to because he knew no one would be there for him in his time of need.

 

After two years, their training was over.

 

Wade was at the top of the class.

 

He almost held back a laugh at the face of undisguised hatred on his almost-alpha’s face.

 

Almost.

 

Truthfully, he laughed in her face.

 

__________________________

  


He was sent overseas.

 

Over the last couple of years, the omega stigma had grown steadily in Europe and the Middle East.

 

Because of that, Wade took immense pleasure in sending alpha enemies of the state to “heaven.”

 

It was hilarious.

 

All Wade had to do was gain access to whatever event these men or women were attending, bat his lashes, flash a smile, brush a hand through his dirty blonde hair and lean in a little close.

 

All he had to do was whisper, “Do you want to go to heaven?” and they were his.

 

They would take care of their own murder.

 

They would lead him out discreetly, take him to a nice private place, kiss him, and never see the blade coming until it was slashed against their throats, deep inside their heart, cut across their intestines.

 

Because the threat they were looking for was an _alpha._ The killers they tended to deal with were _alphas._ The people they had to protect themselves from were _alphas._

 

Omega warriors didn't exist.

 

Omegas were innocent, weak.

 

Male omegas _couldn't_ be smart enough to become soldiers.

 

That's what everyone assumed.

 

That's what made Wade the most successful weapon the U.S. had.

 

That's what made them assign him a mission he couldn't complete.

 

_____________________________

  


Wade was told this mission would be easy.

 

He was told to get into the building, kill the head, and leave. Simple.

 

Except for the fact that the head wasn't there. Their information was wrong.

 

And then his supervisor told him to head up to the top floor.

 

Wade didn't question the order. He never did. That was what made him the best.

 

Then he saw a little girl, her long black hair splayed out on her pillow as she slept, unaware of the operative in her bedroom.

 

_“Kill her.”_

 

Those words… Wade remained in position stiffly.

 

For the first time, he questioned the order.

 

“Why?”

 

They had to have a good reason. _They had to._

 

They didn't.

 

They said that grieving men were more likely to make mistakes.

 

The reason they wanted to end a little girl’s life was because they wanted her daddy to step out of line. Something they couldn't even guarantee would happen.

 

Wade left the building.

 

He went back to his base camp and they flew him back to D.C. to have a disciplinary meeting and a discussion about following orders, about _insubordination._

 

That discussion did not go well.

 

It ended with the question: _Would you disobey a direct order again?_

 

_Depends on the order._

 

That wasn't what they wanted to hear. Wade's answer didn't change.

 

He was kicked out.

 

________________________

  


Wade didn't have a job for a while.

 

He could have gotten on fine without much food for a little while, but he was terrified of being caught without scent blockers, without suppressants.

 

Wade hopped onto the back of a moving train to New York.

 

There was a bar some of his supervisors used to complain about. No one had a plan to get rid of it without causing a small scale war on their own land, so they let it be.

 

A necessary evil.

 

Hellhouse.

 

Wade preferred the original name, _Sister Margaret’s,_ but to each his own.

 

The place was in dire need of a remodel, but one look at all the weapons and the glaring eyes directed his way, and Wade decided the chipped paint was the least relevant problem he had.

 

“Wrong bar, kid,” a bearded man at one of the round tables griped at him.

 

Wade snorted. “Kids don't come in this size, fluffy face.”

 

He was twenty-two. He wasn't a _kid._

 

The bar fell silent for all of a single beat.

 

He stubbornly ignored the catcalls and the whisper of, “An omega can look like _that?”_

 

He was extremely aware of his lack of scent blockers and it made his skin crawl. He didn't show it. He swayed into an empty seat at the bar.

 

The bartender looked amused.

 

“Not going to tell me you don't serve anyone underage?” Wade asked with a grin.

 

The bartender shrugged, wiping an empty glass down with a rag of questionable cleanliness.

 

“If you've got someone to protect you, I couldn't care less. If you don't, get the fuck out of my bar.”

 

His amusement was no longer apparent.

 

A hand clapped down onto Wade's shoulder from behind.

 

Wade moved to the side, crushed that hand in his own, felt the bones break in those fingers, and turned to knock the offending intruder of his personal space onto the bar so roughly he heard the man’s collarbone snap under his fist.

 

In an instant, every weapon in the place was pointed at him.

 

Wade didn't look at any of them.

 

Wade glared daggers at the wheezing beast of a man that was only held up by his fist. “Don't _touch_ me, _Alpha,”_ he growled.

 

The man nodded through stifled breaths. Wade let him fall to the floor.

 

He put on a bright smile and sat back in his seat at the bar, keenly aware of the weapons trained on him. “I don't need anyone to protect me,” he stated smugly.

 

The bartender was glancing back and forth between him and all the weapons in dread, the amount of money it would cost to repair visible in his eyes.

 

Wade's smile did not falter. “Soooooo,” he let out cheerfully, his fingers drumming on the bar impatiently. “I'm totes lookin’ for a job right now. Just a quick little something, small distance, lots of blood. Some light entertainment. I mean, food and ammo are so _expensive_ these days. Not to mention rent. New York is so overpriced it hurts my poor violent little heart. And my wallet. Mostly, my wallet. Running low on the green lately, and you need cash for food and I _really_ love food. Food is very important. Ultra mega important. I'd actually _kill_ for a taco right now. Or several tacos. Like a collection of tacos. You know any good taco places?”

 

Wade looked at the bartender expectantly.

 

The guy didn't look like he was breathing. He looked very tense. Wade looked around the room and realized the issue.

 

He sighed heavily and cocked his hip out, eyes wicked as he smiled cockily at his audience. “Any of you gonna pull the trigger? Or can I get some business without the whole entourage? I mean, I'm honored,” he paused dramatically to lay a hand over his heart, “Really. I didn't know I was pretty enough to turn the heads of _everyone_ in the room. You guys really know how to make a girl feel special, but girls need to _eat_ and we need to buy some nice ammo too, so,” he flapped his left hand at them, “If you don't mind?”

 

There was a strangled sound from behind him, but Wade didn't break eye contact with the most heavily armed dude there. Finally, Mr. Weapons, AKA fluffy face, put his biggest gun down and, slowly, the rest of the people followed suit, turning back to their own conversations.

 

Not that they didn't keep a wary eye on Wade, because they still did. He was new, he understood. No offense taken.

 

The bartender finally looked like breathing wasn't going to cause him a stroke. Wade leaned in on his elbows, his chin resting on his hands, as if the man was going to give him the answers to the most important question of the universe. Really, since suppressants and scent blockers _were_ the center of Wade's universe, that was technically true.

 

A deep breath from goggle-glasses. “We don't trust outsiders.”

 

Wade snorted. Several of the people in the bar weren't even _trying_ to pretend they weren't interested in the conversation. He stuck his hand out in front of him.

 

“Wade Winston Wilson, at your service, but not really ‘cause I'm a free man in a free country and all that jazz.”

 

Goggles hesitantly took his hand and shook it once. “Weasel,” he said.

 

He didn't elaborate. In fact, he took out his phone and blatantly searched for Wade's full name through several databases.

 

“Dishonorably discharged, huh? They fucked you over, then.”

 

Wade shrugged with one shoulder. “Not in the business of killing kids. I'll take mostly anything else, though. Big scary alphas, drug dealers, war criminals, the like, oh yeah and big abusive alphas.” He smiled toothily.

 

Weasel nodded doubtfully.

 

“Uh huh,” he said.

He put down his phone as well and pulled out a manilla folder from behind the bar.

 

Wade opened it and scanned the contents. He grinned widely. A gang leader. Human trafficker. Strong. Tall. _Alpha._

 

Weasel looked at him thoughtfully. “No one's gone for it and come back alive. If you can handle it, you can handle anything. Come back and let me know. Or well, I guess you won't come back if you die.” He shrugged and moved on to wiping down a new glass.

 

Wade felt rather cheerful.

 

“I'll be back,” he said, completely sure he would be.

 

Weasel snorted. Several others in the bar snorted too. It was basically unanimous snorting. They obviously didn't believe that one bit. _He’ll die out there,_ they were probably thinking.

 

Wade skipped on his way out and stole a french fry from Fluffy Face’s plate.

 

He may have had to dodge an itsy bitsy string of bullets as he made his way, but he had a nice job to look forward to.

 

It was sort of worth it.

 

___________________________

  


Five years. He was twenty-seven.

 

He had become a feared assassin. The kind of mercenary others were terrified of.

 

Most mercenaries died young. Because Wade always made sure he had money for suppressants and scent blockers, his omega status was long forgotten.

 

The government still knew, obviously. They had his records filed. And Weasel. Weasel knew.

 

Others did not. Wade was a looker and he could have had anyone he wanted. But only for a night. No one _kept_ a male omega and he couldn't afford for the knowledge of his status to get out there, to be _common_ knowledge.

 

He had worked _hard_ to be taken seriously. To be considered deadly. There was no place he could not infiltrate. There was no target he couldn't reach. There was no sick bastard he couldn't end with a bullet between the eyes.

 

It took work. It took research. But it was _his_ talent and he was _proud_ of it.

 

Sex wasn't worth jeopardizing everything he'd built.

 

And then he met Vanessa Carlysle.

 

Prostitutes had started hanging out at Sister Margaret’s. Fearless girls, those ladies of the night. Brave enough to bed the world's most rotten.

 

Vanessa was the most beautiful woman Wade had ever seen. After one too many nights of trying to get into his pants using every omega tactic in the book and failing, she stopped trying and just talked to him. Just a normal conversation of terribly raunchy and dark humor that Wade had never shared with anyone and Wade felt something rupture in his chest like a small wound.

 

She was perfect. She was absolutely perfect and everything Wade _did not need._

 

Someone stole her suppressants and she fell into heat and Wade killed several of the alphas cornering her one night.

 

They could crowd her on a night when she consented to payment, but she wouldn't be in control during her heat and they _knew_ that and they _didn't care._ They didn't give her time to walk away, or run in the other direction. They tried to _rape_ her.

 

Wade took her home.

 

He locked her up in his room and guarded the door vigilantly and when her heat ended, he made her some pancakes and then she said the words he'd dreaded for so long.

 

“You didn't react to my heat.”

 

No. He didn't react to her heat because all he smelled was _omega_ and that didn't make him react.

 

“I know.” _Please drop it._

 

“Even Beta’s… I mean, they don't get territorial or needy but they still… they still _react,”_ she said quietly, pensively.

 

Wade waited for the pancakes to be ready to flip. He didn't speak. _Please._

 

“Omega?” she asked.

 

Instantly, he was turned in her direction, a blade at her throat, a wild fury dancing in his eyes. “I will _kill_ you if you tell anyone. Hell, I should kill you _now_ and make _sure_ your mouth stays shut.”

 

Her pretty eyes did not flinch. She did not look away. She did not move back. She pressed her neck closer to the blade, silently daring him to do it.

 

“You won't,” she said. A small smile stretched on her lips.

 

“I _should,”_ Wade repeated. He knew he wouldn't. She knew it too.

 

“Wade,” she whispered, his name a secret on her tongue.

 

His eyes met hers, the blade still between them.

 

“Kiss me,” she commanded.

 

He kissed her.

 

He had sex with her.

 

He held her when she was upset.

 

He defended her when she needed it.

 

He fell in love with her.

 

Then Wade was diagnosed with cancer.

 

He walked away from her and didn't look back.

 

__________________________

  


He had nearly resigned himself to an early grave.

 

The only reason he accepted the offer was because he hoped… he hoped that he might be able to go back to Vanessa when it was over.

 

He let himself hope again and like every other time, he felt that hope crumble and twist into despair because hope was the thing that kept the soul alive long enough to _burn_.

 

Hope was a dangerous thing.

 

He knew that.

 

Fuck, he _knew that already_ and he still _let himself hope._

 

It was always a mistake. _Always._

 

_____________________________

  


His body didn't take to the mutation on its own like the few lucky ones.

 

He was a failed experiment and the cancer was still slowly spreading like poison in his veins.

 

They sent him to the superhero workshop.

 

Wade had assumed they would give him more experimental treatment.

 

His assumptions and any hope he had left died a quick death at the sight of _Francis_.

 

Francis _lit up_ at the sight of Wade.

 

So many years in which Wade had assumed he was safe, he was strong, and Francis finally got what he wanted.

 

Wade took a moment to let himself feel viciously satisfied that his father hadn't gotten any money out of it.

 

Because of that, he had a bright smile on his face when Francis entered the room. A smile so bright it made Francis falter in his steps and _that_ made Wade smile even _brighter_.

 

“Hey, Frankie. Missed me?”

 

___________________________

 

The treatments kept Wade alive for much longer than he wanted.

 

He wanted to beg for death.

 

He wanted it so much that he almost broke and begged for it like a good little omega.

 

But he wasn't the only one there.

 

The others didn't have hope. The others didn't dare spit in Francis’ face.

 

Wade held out and taunted the man time and time again, laughing at his torture methods, asking where his damn croissant was and what about the complimentary chocolate on his pillow? He complained about their _hospitality_ as if _that_ was the real problem, not the burns or the drowning sensation or the electric currents racing through him or the oxygen deprivation.

 

He sang the happiest songs he could think of.

 

He tended to favor Fool’s Garden’s _Lemon Tree_ , The Proclaimer’s _500 miles,_ and 4 Non Blondes’ _What's Up._

 

He was in the middle of his daily rendition of What's Up when it happened.

 

_“So I wake in the morning and I step outside_

_And I take a deep breath and I get real high_

_And I_

_Scream at the top of my lungs-_ ”

 

He did not scream the rest of the line at the top of his lungs. His breath caught in his throat as the door opened and a toxic wave of _alpha_ scent rushed at him.

 

Francis was smiling widely, shirtless, a bulge hidden under the fabric of his pants.

 

No.

 

_No._

 

Wade had never been- he'd never been-

 

He didn't want _Francis_ to be the first to take him.

 

He should have found someone from high school. He should have let someone in the military. He should have asked another mercenary. He should have he should have _he should have-_

 

He hadn't.

 

The facility hadn't given him any suppressants and until then his body had been too strained, but an Alpha was in his room. An alpha in the beginning stages of a _rut_ and it smelled _disgusting_ but his body was reacting and Wade didn't want it. He didn't want it. He never wanted it.

 

He hadn't cried since he was fourteen and his father hugged him. Fourteen.

 

He had just turned twenty-eight.

 

He had not cried in _fourteen years._

 

He forced back the tears that wanted to fall and thought about everyone who would be listening. Every other _patient_ that was wishing so fervently for death, and wishing desperately for Francis to die too.

 

He wouldn't give Francis the _satisfaction._

 

He grinded his teeth and rocked into the motions every time Francis slid into him to make it end faster. To laugh at Francis and how he couldn't satisfy a virgin omega let alone a high class _mercenary._

 

He bit back the bile in his throat and snorted when Francis moved faster, harder, violently.

 

He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he bled all over Francis.

 

He pictured Vanessa in his head so that he wouldn't hate himself for the fact that his body _liked it_ , because if he didn't, if he let himself fall to what his body wanted he would break like everyone else had and they needed him not to break. They needed him to make Francis’ life as much of a hell as he made theirs every day.

 

He pictured Vanessa because he would break down in helpless sobs if he didn't and there would be no coming back from that.

 

____________________________

 

It was two months later when someone was thrown into his room and collapsed onto the floor at his feet. A broken shell of who they used to be, arms and legs bent at angles they were never supposed to reach.

 

She wasn't supposed to be there.

 

Wade had hallucinated Vanessa’s presence often enough, but he could tell immediately that this time she was real. It was her scent. He knew her scent instinctively. It may never have driven him wild, but it gave him comfort. That scent equalled home.

 

It didn't anymore. It didn't because she was bleeding. She had burn marks all over her body, bare to him in his room. Her skin was so pale from the blood loss and it _wasn't stopping_ and she smiled at him, this exhausted broken smile that looked nothing like her own, looked up at him through her dark lashes and said, “I love you, Wade.”

 

He was pulling at his restraints with every ounce of strength left in his body and it made no difference because he watched the light he always admired so much drain from her eyes and Wade heard a screaming sound that broke off into a strangled whimper of agony, a sound so inhuman he couldn't process as his own until he made it a second time.

 

He felt sobs climbing up his airway and yet no tears fell. His mouth was so dry. He couldn't remember the last time he had any water or food. He couldn't speak actual words without it feeling like sandpaper in his throat and he couldn't cry and if anyone deserved his tears it was Vanessa but he couldn't fucking shed them. It made his grief so much worse, knowing that even after she died, he wasn't anywhere near deserving of her.

 

He felt his pain swallowing him, encasing him in a hazy fog. A fog that was broken by the sound of the door opening, by the same toxic overbearing scent of alpha that Wade had barely survived once before.

 

A glass of water was pushed up to his lips and Wade turned his head away.

 

“Drink the water, _omega,”_ Francis commanded, as if an Alpha voice might make him obey.

 

But Wade kept his face turned away. He knew what drinking the water would bring him. Omegas were given water before a heat so that they wouldn't die due to dehydration. If he drank the water, Francis would take him and Wade might have been strong enough to handle it before, but he didn't want to risk it now. He couldn't because he was certain that without the thought of a living, happy Vanessa to hold onto, he would shatter under the strain.

 

“No?” asked Francis, a smug note in his voice. “Are you _sure?”_

 

Wade couldn't think of anything worse than the thought of Francis taking him with Vanessa’s dead body in the same room. Of course, he was fucking sure. He would have spat in Francis’ face if he had the moisture to spare. Wade glared at the man with his right eye and kept his face turned from the glass.

 

The wicked grin that spread on Francis’ face unsettled him. It made his insides twist nastily as Francis leaned in close to whisper in his ear, “Okay. I won't force you to drink. I just want you to remember this is _your fault.”_

 

Wade's face snapped back in his direction in confusion, but Francis just walked away from him and put the glass on a bloody nightstand where they kept spare sedatives.

 

He flashed one more dark satisfied smile at Wade and then-

 

Wade felt himself heaving, his stomach rebelling at the sight of Francis stripping down and aligning himself with Vanessa’s dead body.

 

“No. _No, please. Please, no. Please.”_

 

Francis didn't stop. “I told you to drink the water, Wade,” he replied, his voice calm mid-thrust.

 

Wade shut his eyes desperately. “I'll drink the water, just stop. I swear. I swear! I'll drink it! I'll drink the water, I promise. I promise. Ajax. _Ajax, please.”_

 

Francis paused, but he was still inside of her and Wade needed him to get out. She wasn't even alive. She was dead, she was dead because of Wade, and he couldn't protect her in her life, but he could- he _would make Francis stop using her in death._ Vanessa didn't deserve- never deserved to be-

 

Then Francis leaned down and buried his nose in her scent glands and it was all Wade could do not to gag uselessly given the empty state of his insides.

 

“She still smells like an omega, Wade,” he stated, his smile wide at the revulsion on Wade's face. “This is your fault.”

 

Wade watched Francis defile her, triumph in his face at managing to make Wade call him Ajax rather than Francis and Wade wished desperately his body would let him cry and suddenly it hit him like a freight train.

 

He knew how to get Francis to stop.

 

It made acid climb up his airway, but Wade swallowed it down and silently hoped the others could forgive him. He hoped he could someday forgive _himself,_ but somehow he knew he never would.

 

He let the scent of Francis’ rut cloud over him and he faked the wrecked tone as best he could when he whispered, “ _Alpha, please.”_

 

Francis froze. His eyes snapped over to Wade and Wade breathed in raggedly, staving off his hatred as he let his hips shift forward, watching in disgust as Francis’ eyes caught and widened at the motion.

 

Then Wade let the need of every heat glaze his eyes over as he locked eyes with Francis and whimpered and groaned out the decimating line, “ _Need you in me, Alpha. Need to feel you, Alpha.”_

 

Wade knew Francis wasn't stupid enough to believe it. Not really. But like any Alpha, he couldn't resist it. Not when Wade looked the way he did. Not when he smelled the way he did.

 

When Francis offered a second time, Wade drank the water without protest.

 

When Francis bit into his scent glands hard enough to make him bleed, Wade finally allowed himself to cry.

 

___________________________

 

Wade broke.

 

Francis _marked_ him.

 

Francis marked him and left him broken and bloody without treatment to bleed out in his room, not even bothering to restrain what would soon be a corpse.

 

Wade was left in his room for _dead._

 

They had already given up on his potential.

 

But they didn't know how stubborn Wade was.

 

They underestimated just how much Wade _hated_ Francis.

 

Omegas could never even _think_ about causing their alpha harm because it hurt too much. It was too painful to even think about and they would die if they actually went through with it.

 

Wade didn't care.

 

Francis had forced a bond between them that Wade never wanted. That bond made the thought painful, sure, but Wade had _already been in constant pain for the last 120 days._

 

And if he died killing Francis, well, his own death would be _worth it._

 

The researchers said that a mutation could be brought on by extreme stress.

 

Wade, lying broken on the cold hard ground, hated Francis so completely, so immensely, needed his death more than he needed air to breathe, that the sheer agony of it changed him.

 

Wade met death. Death was beautiful.

 

She dejectedly told him she could not hold him for long.

 

She let him go.

 

Wade woke up in his room with his skin feeling like it was lit with a thousand sunburns.

 

Staring at his hand, Wade realized _why_ it felt that way.

 

It was nauseating. And yet, Wade couldn't muster up the emotion to cry, or to even comprehend what he was seeing.

 

He had obviously survived, however scarred and mangled. He hadn't done so to sit around looking at himself.

 

He had a purpose. A very important purpose.

 

He waited until the sounds of someone else's screams echoed in the facility.

 

He found the gas chamber and one of the blowtorches they used to burn people.

 

He wrenched open the pipes and turned on the gas, waiting until he could smell it so clearly it started to force his chest to cave inward on him.

 

He waited until there were shouts of alarm and he saw Francis enter the room.

 

He waited until the horror of his choice struck his bonded’s face.

 

Wade lit the torch and smiled, just before the flames consumed him and his tormentors and the place that made his life a hell he'd never known.

 

___________________________

  


Wade did not expect to survive the explosion.

 

He didn't realize that his first evasion of death wasn't a mere dream, but a reality that he could never retreat to permanently.

 

He didn't know until he woke up with seared flesh that knitted itself back together before his eyes. Until he looked at the charred remains of his once-alpha.

 

What paralyzed him in shock and confusion, was not the healing factor nor the skin, but that he didn't feel grief.

 

A mated omega would feel uncontrollable grief at the loss of their alpha.

 

The confusion made Wade seek out a mirror.

 

That was another mistake.

 

There was a surge of relief at the sight of his neck where the bonding mark had been completely eradicated (It must have been the first time in history an _omega_ severed a bond), but the rest of it- it was-

 

It was-

 

[Hideous thing, aren't you?]

 

{We sure aren't gonna win any beauty contests, that's for fucking sure.}

 

Terrifying.

 

The skin.

 

The cancer.

 

The _voices._

 

[Oh, sure. Terrifying for telling it like it is. Who else is going to point out you look like a melted Walking Dead extra?]

 

“What-"

 

{Oooooh, yes! The Walking Dead! You know that episode, the one where the zombies get exploded and they all get melted onto the sidewalk? Nasty looking things if you ask- oh. _Oh._ Yeah, we do kinda look like that, don't we?}

 

“Who are you?” Wade screamed. They couldn't be what he thought they were. They _couldn't._

 

[Worse. Their skin looked like a smooth surface that time, even if it looked like stretched out gum.]

 

{Yeah. It's sort of like that, but all bumpy and stuff. Like when your fingers look all old from being in a pool too long, maybe?}

 

“I- I’m not-"

 

[No, dryer. It's cracked in spaces like it's pulled too tight.]

 

{But that doesn't make any _sense._ It can't be dry and oozing at the same time. Can it? That's just so _weird._ }

 

“You're- you're not real! You-”

 

[How long do you think it'll be before he cracks?]

 

{Hmmmm. Maybe soon- no, but he took longer before- well, then again-}

 

“Please,” Wade bit out, eyes still locked on his own reflection, words coming out like a question even though he didn't know what he was asking for.

 

[So, soon then?]

 

{Totally.}

 

It did end up being soon.

 

Wade shot himself.

 

He came back ten minutes later and the voices were silent just long enough for him to hope he'd imagined them.

 

Hadn't he already established that hope was a dangerous thing?


	2. Everything's Going To Be Okay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiderman doesn't exactly lead a luxurious life. And he doesn't have the best memories, or the best past, and everything hurts. When he was small, he used to think that being an Alpha would solve all of his problems. It turns out that being an Alpha only ruined everything good about his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know you guys have been waiting FOREVER for this update and I am SO SORRY that it has taken over a year. I ended up in an out of the hospital for a while and then when I was finally released I got a job and just, had a very strange year. But I now I have a sort of? steady income and more flexible hours so I WILL post more often, like at the very least once a month, and I'll make up for my absence with long chapters. It's been a long time since I last wrote anything and this was the one project I was desperate to get back to, so... here we go. I hope you guys like it.

Peter had always been a rather… short kid. 

 

Small would be a better description. He had always been small. So small that his much taller classmates, even the girls, all teased him for it. 

 

They called him an  _ omega. _

 

(Everything was okay).

 

And maybe when he was five, that didn't mean anything because the only omega he knew was his pre-school teacher and she was the nicest person he knew besides his Aunt May, but that's besides the point. Once he reached the age of nine, Peter knew that calling a boy an omega was an insult, something bad. Something terrible and dark and a little helpless. 

 

People could say things like, “Stop crying, you're being such a  _ girl, _ ” and no one batted an eyelash. Because that was a common schoolyard insult and the worst it could do was bruise someone's ego. 

 

But if someone dared call a boy an  _ omega. _ Well. It wasn't pretty. Most boys would get so furious at the implication that they would rush to prove their dominance, or at the very least to protect their dignity, by using violence. The fact that Peter never did, the fact that he glared at the ground angrily and did his best to ignore the accusations, was enough to make his classmate's suspicions grow each time the word was thrown out there. It was enough to bring about the heavy silences in the cafeteria as people waited with bated breath for him to defend himself, and continued stretches of wordless stares when he kept to himself and reminded himself that words meant nothing. Except he was never good at lying to himself. 

 

Peter had grown used to those empty silences, though. He was short and thin and he didn't gain height or weight as fast as he should for a boy his age so it was cause for concern. When Aunt May and Uncle Ben took him to the doctors, they all said that he was perfectly healthy. He had the right amount of nutrients, a good diet, no obvious abnormalities in his blood. He had no hormonal imbalance, nothing came up in their scans. He was perfectly healthy. 

 

Their best guess as to what was wrong with him was the one guess that Aunt May and Uncle Ben were reluctant to accept. The one thing that no one ever wanted for their children. 

 

He wasn't getting tall as fast, or gaining much muscle mass at all despite his best efforts, and he never fought back against the bullies. What more was there to say? Those were clearly omega traits being expressed early on. 

 

(But everything was okay, it was fine). 

 

He was terrified. He was so scared that he tried to ignore it, to pretend it wasn't real, to focus on any schoolwork or research he could in an effort to prove he was worth more than his biology.

 

Until Harry. 

 

Peter was ten years old when he met Harry. 

 

Peter had won the opportunity to represent his school with a speech in a charity gala for underprivileged educational programs. 

 

Most of the people there were adults. The only children there were Peter, in a small tuxedo his Aunt had made for him herself, and Harry Osborn, looking for all the world as if he hated being there with his fake smile and gelled hair. 

 

Peter saw the boy's eyes go wide when he realized the main speaker was a child, and he saw the way Norman Osborn grew impressed with his vocabulary throughout it. 

 

So impressed, in fact, that the man himself came forward to introduce himself to Peter, with his less moody-looking son trailing after him. 

 

Peter hadn't expected to be faced with Norman Osborn. To make matters worse, whenever he was nervous he seemed to lose control of his mouth. He couldn't help himself, Oscorp was involved in a lot of scientific research that he would do practically anything to be involved with. Luck seemed to be on his side, however, because the man seemed to only grow more and more interested in Peter as Peter excitedly spoke about all the research articles occurring in Oscorp and asked questions about how they stabilized certain substances and whether or not they made any breakthroughs lately in the field of genetics. 

 

He had considered himself lucky to even have the chance to speak at such a prestigious event, and he had met one of his greatest inspirations. The day ended in a sort of daze for Peter. 

 

Norman Osborn, upon realizing this small child was the same age as his son, asked Peter to  _ tutor _ Harry Osborn. Which he accepted, of course. What kind of an idiot would he be to turn that down? 

 

It was surreal. 

 

At the start, Harry barely paid him any attention. And why would he? Peter was just some poor kid who happened to be interested in all the things Harry Osborn didn't care to learn about and he wasn't particularly great at socializing either considering the fact that Harry reminded him of the schoolyard bullies, so why would the boy care about anything that Peter had to say to him? Peter was slowly growing immensely frustrated with the boy, and progressively put less enthusiasm into his lessons. It wasn't until one day when Peter brought over some cookies his Aunt May had made, (He had asked her for advice on how to get the other boy engaged and she had offered food as a solution) that the other boy accepted one and sort of froze when Peter gave him a beaming smile of gratitude.

 

It was the longest he'd ever managed to make Harry focus, and Peter wasn't entirely sure why his smile made a difference, but it worked. So he smiled a lot more often and somehow, over time, they became friends. 

 

Until a thirteen year old Peter came all bruised and hurt to their second tutoring session of the week. 

 

(But everything was okay, really, it was  _ fine-). _

 

Harry  _ freaked _ out when he saw Peter, demanding answers and Peter defiantly forced the tears to stay put rather than fall and said it was  _ nothing _ . Because it  _ was _ nothing. Being beat up, it was normal at that point. It happened all the time. He could handle it. So fucking what if he was grew up to be an omega? So what if he was never strong enough to defend himself? So what if no one ever wanted him? He had lived this long, hadn't he? He could take a punch and run fast enough and he was  _ fine. _

 

(Because,  _ goddammit everything was okay and-). _

 

Apparently, Harry did not accept it as normal because the next day Norman Osborn was in Aunt May’s kitchen, sipping on a cup of tea that he obviously found beneath his standards if the twitch in his nose was anything to go by, convincing her to sign a paper for Peter's admission to the same private school Harry was going to. 

 

Peter was angry. No, angry wasn't the right word. He was  _ furious  _ because he knew Aunt May wanted to say no, wanted to say she didn't have that kind of money and didn't want his charity, but as soon as Norman pointed out Peter's bruises and told her about the no violence policy enforced to protect omegas, she agreed. She clenched her fists against the kitchen counter but she agreed and Peter stubbornly held back tears as he stared angrily at the back of Norman Osborn's head for getting into things that were  _ none of his business. _

 

When Peter showed up at Harry's again, he didn't smile the entire time. Not once. Every question was met with a short, impeccably detailed answer. Every joke was met with stony silence. Every small, familiar touch was met with a small move in the opposite direction or a polite request to not be touched. He kept the session as detached and professional as it had been in the beginning and picked up his bag once they were done. 

 

Harry stopped him, taking hold of his wrist in a tight grip, a desperate look on his face. 

 

“Pete, wait, I'm sorry!” 

 

Peter snatched his wrist back. But he waited because that's what he always did.

 

“What is it? Because Harry, I honestly don't want to look at you right now.” 

 

And it was completely true. He was being one hundred percent honest but he still stayed to hear him out because he always forgave people even when they didn't deserve it. Even when they got involved in areas of his life that  _ no one had invited them into- _

 

“I just can't watch you get hurt because of,” Harry hesitated, “Because-" 

 

“Why?” Peter snapped at him, his patience finally,  _ finally _ breaking after years of forced calm. “Because I'm gonna be a weak little omega? I  _ know _ what I'm going to be, Harry! I'm  _ fine _ with it!” 

 

(Because it was fine. Everything  _ was fine,  _ as usual. It never changed). 

 

“But you're not fine!” Harry insisted, a look of rage suddenly clouding his features, “You came here all blue and purple because some  _ sexist-” _

 

“Big word,” Peter muttered spitefully. 

 

Harry recoiled as if Peter had slapped him and Peter instantly felt horrible. 

 

“I- I didn't mean that, Harry.” He didn't. He knew how hard Harry tried when he studied to meet his Dad's standards. Harry wasn't an idiot, no matter what anyone said about his father paying his way through life. 

 

Harry didn't meet his eye and Peter had a sinking feeling in his gut until his best friend- his only friend- mumbled something under his breath. 

 

“What?” He couldn't hear it. It was so quiet. What had he said?

 

And finally, Harry looked at him again, eyes shiny making Peter feel so much guiltier until he said- 

 

“I told my Dad about you being hurt because I  _ needed _ to protect you,” he explained, his words getting faster as he spoke, every syllable slightly more ernest and painful than the last until his voice was hoarse and at a breaking point. “I want- I want you to be  _ my _ omega.” 

 

Peter was left gaping at his best friend who had not only expressed feelings for him, but had confessed that those feelings were deep enough for him to commit to a possible  _ mating bond _ with a  _ male omega _ . 

 

Because that was insane. Because Peter wasn't  _ wanted, _ why would anyone want him? Why would Harry have feelings for  _ him? _ He was an omega, a male omega he  _ was nothing, worthless, small, weak, useless, vulnerable. _ Why? 

 

There was a long conversation after that, about feelings, about whether or not the Osborn patriarch would allow such a thing (he probably would, he met Peter much earlier than his presentation and knew that he wasn't a whore, even wanted him to grow up to work in the Oscorp, surely he would be fine with it), and the fact that if Harry really wanted them to be together, he would have to  _ talk _ to Peter before doing insanely expensive things and understand that Peter would never be property the way he'd seen some male omegas become. 

 

For two years, Peter was insanely happy. They saw each other often enough, constantly in each other's houses, always smiling and laughing and encouraging one another to pursue the things they each wanted, to do what made them happy, and Peter truly believed he'd won the lottery of life. He had found someone, his best friend, so early on in life, someone he was willing to devote the rest if his life to and the weeks leading up to 10th grade were the happiest he'd had to date.

 

Then he started the new semester, a field trip to Oscorp that he agreed to go on in spite of the fact that he'd been there a hundred times before at least, and got bitten by a spider. 

 

No one really made a big deal out of spider bites. They were usually harmless and didn't mean anything. Except he was an idiot because that field trip seemed to have been the best decision  _ of his life- _

 

He had powers. He was given a  _ gift. _ He could push his way through crowds, protect himself, punch people who tried to touch him or tease him for things he couldn't control and maybe he should be more responsible but he was a teenager, it wasn't his job to save the world! 

 

_ -Until he realized it was possibly the worst decision of his life. _

 

He let his Uncle Ben die because he was too selfish, too entitled to help someone who had done wrong by him in the past. Uncle Ben was dead because of  _ him. _

 

It was hard enough having to watch as the man who had acted as his father growing up bled out in front of him. It was hard enough hunting down the perpetrator and having the man arrested instead of tearing him limb from limb when  _ it would have been so easy, like squashing a fly. _ All of that drained him enough on its own. 

 

Watching Aunt May hold it together for the funeral right up until the point where the casket was lowered into the ground, watching her collapse in on herself and tremble with choked down  _ sobs. _ That nearly destroyed him. Aunt May was hurting because of  _ him. _ It was all his fault, all his fault,  _ all his fault.  _

 

_ (But everything’s okay, my love, everything's gonna be fine).  _

 

He wanted to tell Harry about the spider. The powers. The fact that he couldn't even cry at his Uncle Ben's grave freely because he felt the guilt eating away at him with every tear he allowed to fall. He didn't deserve to grieve, not like Aunt May. God, he wanted to tell him everything and he couldn't and the whole ordeal ripped at his chest but he couldn't say it. 

 

He didn't tell Harry. He simply asked Aunt May if he could spend the night at Harry's once each week and every time Friday night came by, he was picked up by a driver, taken to the penthouse, and he held himself together until he sobbed into Harry's arms, pretending he was going to the gym whenever Harry asked about the cuts, the bruises littering his skin from his night activities. But it was all gonna be okay, because if he knew  _ anything,  _ it was that in spite of all the pain he'd gone through, Harry was there for him and Harry loved him and Harry was going to be his Alpha. 

 

Because he knew that, he stayed up until midnight, waiting for his sixteenth birthday with anxiety climbing it's way up his throat. No heat came. Realistically, he knew most people didn't present the day of their sixteenth birthday, but he had hoped he could get it already. If he got his heat and came into his omega status already, he and Harry could finally ask Harry's father for his approval. It was no secret that the man wanted Harry to bond with an omega for their fertility. That, and an omega bonded to an alpha was more likely to birth alpha children. Alpha heirs. Peter knew this. 

 

While he and Harry hadn't been intimate yet, Peter wouldn't mind it if Harry was his only partner ever. He loved him. He loved him enough to be willing to birth a child for him in spite of his hatred of the stigma around omegas and their “responsibilities” when it came to child-rearing. In spite of knowing that a bond with an Alpha meant that Alpha could command him, he trusted Harry. Harry would never reduce him to a mere housewife. 

 

And Harry had already presented Alpha.

 

Three weeks of anxious anticipation later, Peter found out that all the love in the world couldn't make Norman Osborn approve of him because instead of presenting as an Omega the way he had expected, the way he had learned to not only be okay with, but to actually  _ want _ , Peter presented as an Alpha. 

 

He couldn't date an Alpha, their scents would physically repulse each other if they ever stayed in the same room during a rut. He couldn't birth children. He wasn't an omega.  _ How the fuck was he not an omega. _

 

Harry broke up with him as soon as he found out. Through a  _ text _ message. 

 

_ I can't have a future without legitimate children. Pete, I'm so sorry. I still love you and I’m still your friend… I hope you can understand. _

 

No. No, Peter did  _ not _ understand. 

 

He knew they would break up, that was obvious, but Harry was his best friend. He was the man Peter had been prepared to spend the rest of his life with. Wasn't he worth more than a brief message through the goddamn phone? He could have at least  _ called. _

 

He had stressed for so long about how he would keep his integrity whilst marrying an alpha. He had tried so  _ hard  _ to be what Harry wanted, what he needed. He had resigned himself to a slow start in his career of choice, knowing he would have to bear a child to remain valuable to the company. He had finally come to terms with the fact that he would never truly be seen as an equal due to his status, and all he could do was shake with pure  _ rage _ at the fact that he was not an omega. He would never be an omega. 

 

He couldn't help but laugh at his own idiocy. He hadn't wanted to be an omega. He had never  _ wanted _ to be an omega. He just accepted it because he didn't have a choice, and then he grew to like the idea because it meant he could be with the person he loved, but he would have had to be  _ insane  _ to want to be a male omega. 

 

No one ever wanted to be an omega. 

 

And if Harry was willing to throw away the  _ years  _ of effort they had put into their relationship just because his second gender didn't match, then Harry didn't  _ deserve _ him, omega or not. 

 

It didn't stop Peter from crying though. He cried, he whined, and he sobbed in the same way he had grown used to when he was a child coming home from the doctor's visits, the words, “He'll be an omega. There's no doubt about it,” chanting over and over in his head. 

 

Now he wept for the opposite. He wept to the icy memory of his Aunt May smiling widely at him and proclaiming excitedly, “You're an  _ Alpha!” _ only to wilt at the sight of his shocked wide eyes and his hushed whisper of, “ _ No, _ I can't be….” 

 

“With great power comes great responsibility,” his Uncle had said. Peter was realizing the words should have been, “With great power comes great  _ sacrifice.” _

 

He had had his entire life planned, and suddenly it was like the floor had been snatched from beneath his feet. 

 

(But… he was fine. He was going to be okay). 

 

And maybe he didn't believe himself, not right away. He didn't speak to Harry again. He didn't acknowledge that they had ever been anything, he didn't meet his eyes in the hallways. They were strangers and that was fine. 

 

And time kept moving forward despite that numb emptiness in his chest that sometimes made him feel like he couldn't breathe if he wasn't swinging from building to building, high on the altitude and the fact that nothing could touch him up there. 

 

That sphere of nothingness in his ribcage receded an inch or so when he met MJ. She spoke to him like he wasn't different or beneath him, she talked to him when he wasn't sure how to fill the empty silences between them with words he couldn't think of, and she became his most precious friend. When he asked her  _ why _ she approached him, she said it was because  _ Harry _ had told her that Peter wasn't a bad guy like the rest if the rich kids speculated, he just kept to himself and she always thought he looked lonely. If she noticed the twitch in his jaw when she spoke of Harry, she didn't mention it. 

 

Maybe she already knew. Maybe Harry had already told her. 

 

Their friendship became strained and no matter how much effort Peter out into being amiable, it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same because he saw the way she looked at Harry from across the cafeteria, because she smiled every time Harry's name appeared on one of her phone notifications, because it was obvious she loved him and because she was a Beta. She was a Beta and she could date whoever the hell she wanted. She wasn't an omega, but she was a female and could still get pregnant. She might have to birth two or three children before they managed to get an alpha heir for the stuck up bastards on the board of Oscorp, but they could manage it. And MJ could handle their attitudes and judgment because she was strong, opinionated, because she came from the same world of negotiations and money and she was so much better for Harry than Peter ever could have been. 

 

He slowly distanced himself from her, and one day when he ran into the old physics classroom to avoid her questioning eyes he found someone else was already there. 

 

Gwen Stacy. There was no way to express the miracle that was Gwen Stacy. 

 

She was sitting on the lab counters, legs crossed in front of her, her notebook in her lap, flipped open to a half blank page where she was drawing something and periodically looking out of the window. 

 

Peter froze near the doorway. His first instinct was just to leave, he wasn't great at first impressions, but he had already run into the room and practically slammed the door open in his haste. She obviously knew he was there, would it be rude to walk out and pretend it never happened? The door swung shut behind him with a loud bang and he flinched, wondering if it was too late to quietly make his way out and find a new hiding spot? Where else could he go where MJ wouldn't find him? His phone buzzed in his pocket with a new notification and Gwen Stacy finally turned her head to look at him with curious blue eyes. 

 

She smiled. 

 

Peter melted. 

 

It wasn't just her smile that warmed him. It was everything. She seemed so relaxed, so unperturbed by his presence, so pretty and soft and carefree, and she had her hair tied back and when he  _ breathed- _

 

He could smell her. She smelled like cinnamon, caramel, and hot chocolate on christmas morning and her whole aura was calm, the calm of the sea in Cancun in the morning. Peter had never been to Cancun but he just knew, that's what it was, that's what her person felt like. And when the window let in a breeze that carried her scent in a stronger little wave Peter felt his eyes widen and his heart slow as he took it in. 

 

_ Omega.  _

 

“I don't mind if you steal my hiding place,” she said, her soft smile still in place, eyes bright with mirth, “But I'd like to know the name of my hiding buddy.” 

 

Peter faltered. “I, umm, I didn't mean to intrude. I wasn't  _ hiding,” _ except he totally was, “I just-” 

 

“Parker, right?” she asked, interrupting him, turning and letting her legs swing off the edge of the counter, her drawing only halfway done, the light from the window only hitting half of her skin and causing one eye to shine and glitter while the other stayed in the slight shadows. 

 

He stiffened slightly and nodded, all wide eyes and not really trusting himself to speak again without babbling. 

 

She laughed at his awkwardness, one hand coming up to cover her smile which he didn't understand because she was beautiful what reason could she possibly have to cover her smile. 

 

“You're adorable, Parker, but I'm not going to hurt you or kick you out of the hiding room. This is,” she paused and leaned forward, putting her hands around her mouth to whisper speak, “A judgement free zone.” 

 

“Peter,” he mumbled, flushing when her smile widened and she held out her hand. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I'm Gwen.” 

 

Her hand was soft and delicate and he was scared he might crush it if he shook it too hard to he tried to be graceful and probably failed by a mile. And then her blurted out, “Gwen Stacy.” 

 

Her eyes widened. “How do you know my name?” 

 

And Peter wanted to die. Everyone in the school knew who Gwen Stacy was, everyone wanted to date Gwen Stacy. Everyone wanted the privilege of  _ speaking _ to Gwen Stacy and even though everyone loved her and how honest and intelligent and perfect she was, Gwen Stacy was never really close with anyone. She was everyone's best friend but no one was hers. She didn't initiate conversation with people, people drifted naturally to her. Everyone it seemed, except Peter. And he couldn't really explain how he knew her name. 

 

“I, umm, have history class with you,” he replied. And it was true. Everyone always rushed to pair up with her, or sit next to her, so Peter never really had the chance. Not that he would have tried, she was obviously out of his league. 

 

But she didn't seem to think the same way because from then on, she would arrive to class three minutes late so that everyone else had already chosen a seat, and she would take the empty seat beside him in the back of the class. 

 

She would drag him to the physics room during lunch, take the bus with him every day after school even though she knew how much it infuriated her dad that he had to drive halfway across town to pick her up, and she became close with his Aunt May and MJ. It should have been obvious that she had feelings for him, that he wasn't the only one harboring a beating crush, but he didn't realize it until he came home on a Friday night after school and Harry was there, eating cookies that his Aunt May made. 

 

The emptiness in his chest returned, and he hadn't realize until then how much Gwen Stacy had reduced its size every time she laughed or understood one of his stupid references. He hadn't known. 

 

Harry was there to apologize, to say he wanted to be friends again, to say that he was sorry for the way he had handled everything the previous year. 

 

The emptiness grew an it grew and it  _ shattered _ and Peter smiled softly, painfully. “Get out of my house,  _ Alpha.”  _

 

Harry's expression was a tide of hope and vulnerability and that tied rose and crashed with reality and finally fell. Hard. 

 

“I see.” 

 

A year ago, the teary eyed look Harry gave him would have had him rushing to hug the person he loved with everything he had. A year ago, he would have dropped everything to accept his apologies and welcome him back into his life in any way he could have him. But that was a year ago and he still cared, but not enough to forgive being treated like he was  _ disposable _ after so much effort and time. 

 

Harry left. His Aunt May looked at him like maybe she understood his pain and that was enough. 

 

(Everything was fine). 

 

He asked Gwen Stacy to be his girlfriend the next day. They were in their usual hiding place and she had started drawing him and Peter just let it slip out, the he loved her. 

 

She had smiled, wrapped her arms around him, and when he started crying with the amount of overwhelming emotion thrown his way, she spoke softly. 

 

“Everything is okay, Peter. I love you.” 

 

He just gripped her tighter and wondered why he felt like it wasn't completely true. 

 

When the Green Goblin came around, Peter thought it would be fine. His powers made him strong enough to handle it. He thought nothing could go wrong, because he had grown, and he had someone to live for now, and there was no way he could lose. 

 

When he realized it was Norman Osborn, he wished he had never gone on that field trip. Because the Green Goblin didn't fight like the rest of his enemies did. The Green Goblin didn't just want to defeat him, he wanted to  _ kill _ him. And when he tried, it was only a last second reflex that kept Peter, Spiderman, alive. 

 

But dodging the weapons meant that the man, his idol growing up, Harry's  _ father _ died. 

 

And that made Peter feel like a monster. 

 

The newspapers called him a vigilante, a  _ menace. _

 

People in the streets blamed him for the destruction left behind. 

 

Harry was devastated and called Peter, who answered due to the guilt gripping his chest like a vice, and asked him to please,  _ please _ come over just this once. 

 

And Peter held him, and let him sob and whisper his promises of revenge against Spiderman, whisper his hatred for the masked menace between choked cries and panic attacks over the state of his company and his father's broken legacy. 

 

And when Harry ignored MJ's calls and asked Peter to let Gwen's calls go to voicemail, he did as he was asked, and he didn't say a word about it. When Harry kissed him, and told him he still loved him, that he could never love anyone else the same way, Peter let him and felt a part of himself die inside, but it was okay,  _ everything was okay, it's fine- _

 

And a part of him knew. He wasn't an idiot. He had watched the Green Goblin die in front of him. He had seen the man bleed out and left his corpse in a burning building. Norman Osborn wasn't invincible. He wasn't immortal. 

 

Of course it was Harry. Harry had sworn revenge. Harry had sworn he would  _ kill _ Spiderman and, though Peter had begged him to let it go, had asked him not to do anything stupid, he had taken up where his father left off anyway. But just because he knew it was the most likely outcome, didn't mean he would accept it easily. 

 

So he kept pretending it wasn't real. He kept having his dates and lunches with Gwen, he kept going over to Harry's on Friday nights to hold him through his nightmares and kiss him in the morning and act as if he didn't feel like the worst person alive for doing it, he kept consoling MJ over the fact that her relationship was falling apart and Harry wouldn't let her be there for him, and he kept going out as Spiderman and letting the habit of swinging and bruising himself as he stopped crimes make him feel alive the way Gwen used to before he started lying to her. 

 

He kept telling her he wasn't ready to spend her hearts together because he knew she would be going to Oxford and he didn't think a bond as fragile as theirs could survive the distance, and he wouldn't admit it to her, but he knew that if they bonded, she would be able to feel the  _ guilt, sorrow, deceit  _ that he projected around her and it would break them both. It was better this way. 

 

But it wasn't. 

 

Because his Aunt May said that Harry had come over on a Tuesday, gone up to his room to wait for him, and then left before he could get home. 

 

His room. 

 

Where he had left his design for the new web shooters he had been planning to make. 

 

Where he kept an extra suit under the bed. A suit that was  _ gone when he looked for it _ . 

 

He couldn't breathe. He felt like his lungs were caving in on him and his ribs were shrinking around his heart, cutting off the flow of blood. Harry knew. He  _ knew who he was _ . He knew he'd been lying to him, he knew he'd been Spiderman all along and he'd been spending the night at his place and holding him when he'd been the one to cause his pain in the first place. 

 

He tried calling him. He must have called thirty times before he finally decided to just go downstairs and head over to his house. Except his Aunt May was frozen, staring at the television on horror, the dimming light from behind the curtains casting shadows over her pale face. 

 

He almost asked what was wrong. 

 

And then he saw what was on the screen.  _ Who _ was on the screen. 

 

The Green Goblin was lifting a screaming and struggling Gwen up above the Brooklyn bridge. The news was reporting that the Green Goblin had taken a minor female omega captive and that authorities were headed to the scene. But he wasn't looking for them. The camera zoomed in and the villain removed his mask and Harry stared back at the cameras, furious, demanding the appearance of Spiderman from above. 

 

“Come and get me! I'm waiting, Spiderman! It's you or her! Somebody's dying tonight!” 

 

The growl behind his words was unmistakable. It was a challenge. Something that stabbed at his chest because Harry had  _ never _ challenged him before. He had never intentionally hurt him. He had never manipulated him or threatened him. 

 

And Peter ran. His Aunt May ran after him and begged him not to go to the bridge, to let the police do their jobs, but she didn't know who he was, she didn't understand that this was  _ his _ fight. She didn't realize that the only two people he had ever felt like himself with were on that bridge and he didn't want either of them to die. 

 

He changed on the way there, and when he shot a web and swung himself up to Harry's level, he begged him to put her down. 

 

And Gwen heard his voice and the fight drained out of her as she stared at him and thought of all the times she had spoken badly of Spiderman, because her father disapproved of the masked hero. Because it was all she'd been taught. 

 

“Peter?” she whispered, her eyes wide and shining with tears. 

 

And Harry laughed maniacally. “I  _ know. _ How stupid were we, right? He  _ lied to me. _ This whole time, leading the debates in classes against Spiderman when we were  _ dating _ him.” 

 

Spiderman attacked. He attacked because watching the confusion in Gwen's pretty blue eyes and then the betrayal when he couldn't deny it was too much, too soon, and if she just survived, they could fix this because it  _ had to be okay- _

 

There was a moment during the fight, when he hesitated for fear he would hurt Gwen, a moment where he stopped trying to convince Harry to stop this, a moment where time seemed to freeze because Harry finally let a tear fall and said, “I'm sorry, Peter,” and he let Gwen go and hauled himself toward Peter at full speed, with a knife in his hand. 

 

Peter let himself fall to reach after Gwen, his safety be  _ damned, _ one hand stretched behind him to shoot a web that would stop his fall, one hand shooting a web to catch  _ her. _

 

Her body didn't hit the ground. It  _ snapped. _ She dangled from an unnatural angle and the moment he realized what that meant, was the same moment that he heard what sounded like an explosion above him. Harry hadn't been able to slow down in his descent toward him. Harry had crashed straight into the side of the bridge. His body was twisted and mangled above Peter, red coppery fluid rained down on him from the shattered remains, and the gadgets he wore had exploded on impact, tiny shred of clothing on fire fell like ashes over Peter as he forced himself up to retrieve the body. He laid Harry gently beside Gwen, kneeled beside them, and he  _ wept _ . 

 

It was  _ agony _ . It was emptiness like he had never known before and he felt like dying would have been preferable. Dying would have been  _ better and welcome _ in comparison. 

 

The worst part was that he couldn't even stay there and break peacefully. The cops soon moved in to try and arrest him and he left. He dodged their bullets and he collapsed on a New York city rooftop wear he sobbed over the loss of two people who had once been his reason to live. Harry had put him back together when his Uncle died. He had picked up the pieces of his shattered soul and held then until he healed over. Gwen had been the light he needed to escape the emptiness inside if him and he would have given her everything if he hadn't felt guilty over causing Norman's death. Everything good he had got taken away from him. Everyone died. 

 

He couldn't really remember his father, but he had one memory of his mom before they died. 

 

There were men in dark blue uniforms taking someone away from their house and he was crying. He didn't remember why. He didn't know who was being taken away. He just knew that he was scared, so terribly scared, and his mom wiped away her own tears and sang to him in a language he couldn't remember or recognize, a song he had forgotten the words to, and when he was reduced to sniffling instead of wailing in panic, she smiled softly and whispered, “Everything is going to be okay, my love. Everything will be fine. Shh, it's okay. Everything is okay.” 

 

Only it wasn't anymore. 

 

His mom was dead. Uncle Ben was dead. Norman Osborn was dead. Harry was dead. Gwen  _ was dead. _

 

If his Aunt May knew… would she die as well? 

 

The thought froze his lungs with terror and he counted to 10, to 50, to 100 and he couldn't breathe right and  _ nothing was okay, nothing would ever be okay, he was going to lose everyone and he was going to be alone. _

 

He was an alpha now but what did it matter? He couldn't ever let anyone into his life. No one would be safe with him. He couldn't protect anyone, he couldn't do anything to keep anyone he loved  _ alive, _ what kind of alpha was he? 

 

He was so,  _ so weak. _

 

He was scared. 

 

Every night he had nightmares. Every night he practically killed himself stopping crime until he felt he might pass out from the sleep deprivation and still, he woke up screaming from the visions of Harry's corpse dripping a stream of red over him, of Gwen's spine snapping under the strain of his webs, of Uncle Ben bleeding out on the street in front of him and choking out, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” 

 

When MJ asked him to meet up with her a year after Harry and Gwen were gone, he agreed, because he missed basic human interaction. When she asked to meet again, he decided to make time for her, because he had cared for her once, and she had been a real friend to him, and he had betrayed her. When she kissed him, he stepped back and walked away. Because he couldn't do that again. He couldn't lose someone again. 

 

They didn't speak for months after that and his depression was beginning to swallow him whole. 

 

And when Aunt May started to notice, he moved out.

 

He went to college, took online classes, took all the summer programs, sold photos of Spiderman to the Bugle to pay rent, and after three years, landed an unpaid internship with Stark Industries. 

 

And maybe some nights he still didn't sleep. And maybe he survived on the coffee and oranges in the break room for his floor at stark industries. And maybe some days he had to forgo sleep entirely to write college papers that weren't even his, just so he could afford rent. 

 

He was surviving and… and everything was going to be okay. It was. It had to be. 

 

So when his spidey sense went off, he went toward the source of the danger. The way he always had. The way he had done a million time before then. 

 

And when he sensed a bullet coming his way from the left, he dodged it, only to realize he hadn't swung far enough to the right to avoid it. It shot clean through his shoulder and he dropped from three stories high, rolling into an alleyway to minimize his injuries.

 

It had been a set up. God, of course it had been, they had snipers prepared to shoot him as he approached, and he had swung straight into the grey without even checking the perimeter and he was bleeding. Fuck. He was bleeding too much. He tried to stand, but his legs were shaking, his right arm was bent at a strange angle, his suit was shredded along his rib cage, and he felt his eyesight blurring at the edges.

 

There were gunshots and screams coming from a few blocks away, and then footsteps coming into the alley and he had to  _ run and get away _ or whoever was coming would discover him and Aunt May- 

 

“Hoolyyyy unicorn on a pogo stick! It's my favorite pornstar! Isn’t he lovely? Isn’t he great? That ass is the best thing I’ve  _ ever _ seen in my life! Is this real? Somebody pinch me, I think I'm  _ dreaming- _ wait!” 

 

Peter tried to focus, despite the darkness clouding over him and the fatigue slowly eating away at his limbs, on what he was seeing through his mask. There was… a man. Who was standing very rigidly. In a black and red hero suit? The amount of weapons visible on him was alarming, but not more so than the way he was mumbling to the air beside him and- 

 

“Pornstar?” Peter whispered in confusion. 

 

And suddenly the red figure was too close, lifting him up and cradling him against his chest, and he couldn’t find the will to muster a protest louder than a mumble, he couldn’t even push the man away, he felt like he was  _ dying- _

 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Spidey,” he said quietly. He held him a fraction of a bit tighter, and even though he was hungry, and exhausted, and everything hurt, when the man leaned his head closer and said, “Everything’s going to be okay,” for some reason… Peter wanted to believe him.  

 

It was the last thing he heard before darkness closed in on him.  


	3. Liar Liar

The thing about Wade is that he doesn't know how to shut up. His mouth runs in circles like it's on a goose chase and doesn't stop until all the geese have bled out and died and even then it'll form syllables he won't remember after biting a bullet. 

 

[Since when do we wait for anything to bleed out?] 

 

{Everybody needs to go out with a  _ bang!!!} _

 

[Also, are we just going to glide over the fact that you bite the bullet on a regular basis?]

 

Wade doesn't respond. 

 

There are precious few things that can silence him, what with the voices harassing him 24 hours a day.

 

[If we didn't, you would never have anyone to talk to and then what would you do?] 

 

Yellow starts screeching out the chorus of Badflower's Ghost cheerfully. 

 

{TAKE THE PAIN AWAY FROM ME, I AM A FREAK, I AM AFRAID THAT ALL THE BLOOD ESCAPING ME, WON'T END THE PAIN, AND I'LL BE HAUNTING ALL THE LIIIVES THAT CAARED FOR MEEEE-} 

 

The tone of voice is at odds with the depressing words and volume and White cuts him off with a deep snort and a, [And who cares for us exactly? Name one person.] 

 

There's no one, and they all know it, and Yellow starts singing more obnoxiously as if his suicidal lyrics might be the thing to push Wade to the breaking point this time. 

 

However, the fact that his favorite little webbed wonder might die tonight is enough to lock his jaw underneath the mask and while it doesn't drown out the voices, Wade is silent and meticulous. He doesn't know the guy, not personally, but you can only have so many fantasies about a celebrity without growing attached and the amount of basically  _ professional _ stalkers that get reported is staggering. Wade briefly wonders if he counts as a stalker. He hasn't followed Spidey anywhere, but he's followed  _ other _ people. Usually with the intent to unalive. Does that negate the stalking factor of the situation? Does homicide eradicate stalking behavior from his rap sheet? He's not sure. Either way, he hasn't followed Spidey around. Yet. And he doesn't know Spiderman's identity. Again: yet. 

 

His hands are steady as he pulls up Spiderman's shirt, careful to peel the blood stained rag away from the damaged shoulder. There's a clear exit wound, but the hole itself is bleeding far more than Wade knows is safe. He doesn't have any medical supplies and he should have just taken the superhero to a hospital but he's a  _ fucking idiot _ because he brought Spidey to his disgusting apartment where he's likely to get an infection. 

 

Mistakes were made, but he knows the hospital staff would have removed the mask and maybe an infection is preferable? 

 

[Sure, and maybe feed him rat poison too.] 

 

White is having one of his sarcastic moods. He denies they're a thing, but they  _ are _ and it's like dealing with a drug addict during detox, everything is seen through shit-tinted lenses until they get a fix and Wade hasn't killed anybody today. Yet. 

 

{Once upon a time, a little spider died, right on our couch, bled all his blood out, and we got blamed for the murder! Well, not  _ yet _ , but we  _ will. _ } 

 

Yellow sounds like he thinks murder is the basis for all nursery rhymes and, after reading the Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales, Wade is not inclined to disagree. 

 

But there Wade was, wrapping duct tape all around his idol's upper arm and shoulder and once around his chest to hold the strange patch-me-up system into place. The movement brought his masked face too close to Spidey's collarbones, two indents that were sexy as all hell but  _ far _ more pronounced than could possibly be healthy and- 

 

{He's  _ starving! _ Feed him! Feed him! Feed him! Have him eat gourmet meals out of our hands and  _ lick our fingers-} _

 

[Our fingers are disgusting wrinkly sausage rolls with scabs on them.] 

 

Wade glared to his left, even as he removed his right glove to hook under Spidey's mask and get a feel for how strong his pulse was. The smell is nearly enough to send him scrambling away because  _ spice, warmth, fire _ floods his system, but he presses down anyway to make sure Spiderman will live another day. 

 

His hand is suddenly halted by a bone-crushing grip and in one swift move he is launched across his own sitting table as Spidey jumped up from his couch and sent both his feet ramming towards Wade's chest. 

 

The move would have been so much more impressive if Spiderman didn't lose any and all balance he had after that graceful move and his body collapsed onto the back of the couch, sending him  _ and _ the furniture into a sprawl backwards. 

 

Wade giggles and then he laughs and he's damn near  _ crying _ as he tries to go over and help the little hero who dislocated his jaw for his efforts and shouts, “Who the  _ fuck _ are you and where am I?” 

 

[Did he just-] 

 

{Oh My God} 

 

And Wade knows better than this. He does. But knowing better and  _ doing _ better are two different things, so he pops his jaw back into place with a loud  _ pop! _ and grins, asking, “You kiss your mother with that mouth,  _ pretty boy?” _

 

Maybe it's his tone of voice, or the fact that Spidey is so clearly disoriented and it took him a while to piece things together, but the guy  _ rears _ back five feet away from him and a hand, his left hand that happens to be attached to his uninjured left arm, flies up to ensure his mask remains in place. His right hand went up too, but halted halfway into the process and stopped entirely at the webbed hero's full body flinch. 

 

There is a brief and confused silence as either party stares at the other occupant of the old, grimy living room. Wade  _ may _ have bought the house from a hoarder and he  _ may _ have forgotten to finish cleaning it before bringing over any guests and well, he certainly never expected  _ Spidey _ to stand in his humble little trash bin. Or to knock over his couch and bleed on him and his freshly pressed suit, but what's a little blood and broken furniture between future  _ lovers?  _

 

“Say something!” Spidey demands, but his voice is high pitched and it's  _ adorable _ and so un-alpha-like that Wade chuckles and Spidey stiffens up at the noise, arms flexing as if he might be preparing to attack. 

 

[We'll never be lovers.] 

 

{But  _ oh _ a guy can  _ dream, that ass was made to be worshipped!} _

 

[Dreaming is as far as that's ever going to get, when's the last time we looked in a mirror?] 

 

“Two years ago, five months, and 13 days.” The response is automatic. It's sad, but not as sad as the reason he remembers it. 

 

Then, “What?” 

 

“What?” asks Deadpool, because he's not entirely sure what Spideycakes is asking about and keeping track of real conversations isn't his strong suit. 

 

Spidey tilts his head at him again, soundless, measuring, and then breathes in and out shakily a couple of times and he asks, defeated, “Did you look under my mask?” 

 

[Wow.] 

 

{Did he hit his head?} Yellow sounds abnormally concerned. 

 

He's never even shown concern for  _ Wade _ and maybe, just maybe, Deadpool is a little offended, but first things first! Who wakes up after being shot and immediately asks if someone saw their  _ face? _ What's a face? Who care about a face? 

 

[Your face looks like raw chicken]

 

{Diced up and seasoned with scabs} 

 

[And sores]. 

 

{Rashes!} 

 

Yellow sounds awfully delighted for someone who shares the same face, but maybe it's because they're currently masked and need no shame. 

 

Still the point is! That Spidey doesn't seem to give a rat's ass about his shoulder or the fact that his ribs are showing! 

 

He stands to his full height, leans one hip against the already crumbling wooden wall, and says in his best British prepubescent boy accent, “You  _ need _ to sort out your priorities.” 

 

There's a snort from the opposite side of the room. Spidey snaps his left hand up to cover his masked mouth and Wade giggles, laughing fully when Spiderman gains control of himself and demands, “No,  _ seriously!” _ as if that juvenile approach is what will make Deadpool an honest little innocent flower in a field. He's halfway tempted to plead the fifth just to spite him the way he does whenever S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers try to interrogate him, but this doesn't feel like an interrogation. 

 

{Oh, he could handcuff us anytime-}

 

[He's going to start swinging.] 

 

And  _ swing he does. _

 

Deadpool only has half a second to dodge before Spiderman comes flying at his face with his foot first, missing by a mile and swaying dangerously on weak floorboards, and it's as Spidey is forcing himself up from the crouched position he landed in that Wade sees the curve of his spine, specifically the way the ridges of the bones in his spine are  _ extremely visible _ and- 

 

“Totally not in the bendy pornstar way!” 

 

Spidey seems to freeze midstep, halfway to turning toward Deadpool, his chest is blooming in tiny pinpricks of pink as he tries to shove his shirt back down over himself in the name of modesty, practically yelling,  _ “I'm not a pornstar!”  _

 

Still, the tight spandex pulls painfully over his arm and he growls and Wade is suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of  _ angry, hurt, confused, blood, Alpha, strong powerful Alpha _ that rolls off the obviously younger male and Wade feels panic crawling up his throat as he  _ yanks _ his glove back on to cover every inch of skin and scent glad that might react to his hero. Because he doesn't want  _ any more people _ knowing his status. He would voluntarily keel over if Spidey gloated about his status. He can't take it. 

 

“Right. Yeah. Totally not a pornstar, Spideycakes, except well, like,  _ in my dreams, _ because  _ whoo boy _ , lemme tell you, I get  _ vivid _ hallucinations of tearing that ass  _ up _ ,” he pauses to make grabby hands in the general direction of Spiderman's ass and watches as the hero gets more and more tense, the  _ confusion _ and  _ outrage _ in his scent singeing the air around him and Wade has to fight the instinct telling him to  _ kneel _ before the Alpha, making his body stand taller and threatening in a silent challenge instead as he stalks forward.

 

The action and his words make Spidey hastily retreat toward the nearest window, not quite leaving, but keeping an exit strategy close at hand. 

 

Wade grins beneath his mask and he can  _ see _ the movements of Spidey's throat as the man swallows once. 

 

“I, umm, I'm an Alpha,” he proclaims, as if there was ever any doubt. As if his scent didn't make that perfectly obvious. As if his fucking smell alone didn't make Wade weak, and Wade shouldn't be doing this but. 

 

“Yeah, and I'm betting your hole's never been fisted, bet your pretty little nub's never been touched,” Wade leans in closer and even when Spiderman freezes in place he can't stop himself from saying, “I bet no one's ever fucked into you and tested just how long those webs can hold you in place, Spidey, I could teach you how to ride me.” 

 

He's not serious. He wishes he could be but he isn't, not even for Spiderman, not even if the hero  _ asked _ . 

 

White doesn't bother speaking up, he just laughs and laughs, and laughs as Yellow waits for Spidey to react with bated breath. 

 

But that's the thing: even if Spiderman, owner of the finest ass in New York City and possibly planet Earth ever showed a modicum of interest in Deadpool, Deadpool doesn't want  _ anyone _ to see Wade. Because  _ Wade  _ is weak.  _ Wade _ has trauma.  _ Wade _ is a terrified scarred up omega that hides his skin and his biology behind a mask and medication he can't afford and he never wants anyone to see him again. 

 

And maybe Spidey is more intuitive than he seems because he mumbles, “Liar,” and just as Wade reaches out a hand to grab at his ass, Spidey kicks him in the ribs and jumps out of the window, just like Deadpool knew he would and Wade chases after him, sprained ankles healing as fast as he breaks them through his run. 

 

It's fun. It's exhilarating. 

 

[It's a mistake.] White warns him. 

 

Wade keeps chasing. 

 

And eventually Wade smiles to himself and lets Spiderman run off into some back alley confident in the Alpha’s ability to protect himself. After all, he managed to evade Wade right after being shot and resting a few hours, Wade treated him as best as he could, and there's not much else he can do without his biology creating a problem for him. He's learned to resist scents throughout his life but Spiderman smelled… like fire. It was the closest Wade could come to explaining it. Like the gasoline he set aflame when he blew up Weapon X, thinking  _ freedom at last. _

 

[Don't do this.] 

 

“Do what?” 

 

{Are we doing something? What are we doing? Is somebody dying?  _ Should _ someone be dying?} The sound effect of knuckles cracking echoed in Wade's head. 

 

[You know what.] 

 

{Guys, I wanna know!!!} 

 

“I'm not doing anything, fucking  _ christ _ .” 

 

He wouldn't. He has too much to lose. Or well, nothing to gain. Nothing real, anyway. No matter how bendy Spidey looks and how badly he obviously needs someone to take care of him and nurture him that is  _ not _ his responsibility and Spiderman is a grown ass man who can take care of himself. 

 

{Don't ignore  _ me! What aren't we doing!?} _

 

[How long do you think it'll be before the guy finds out he has five hundred dollars stuffed into the back of his pants?] 

 

{HEY! TELL ME WHAT WE AREN'T DOING!} 

 

Wade smirks to himself. “An hour.” 

 

Yellow has finally reached the point of incoherent screeching once more and Wade finally yells, “We are not going to  _ court Spiderman!”  _  loudly enough that several people on the street stop to stare at him and hastily look away when he glares, the whites of his mask narrowing in a threatening manner and his hands reaching for the hilts of his beloved katanas. 

 

Yellow protests his choice, obviously, going on a rant about how Wade keeps  _ squandering opportunities _ and  _ ruining their life one choice at a time _ and Wade snorts because, “What life? Besides, I don't even want him.” 

 

White says nothing. 

 

It's not until Wade is back in his little hoarder den, sitting on his broken couch surrounded by old one hundred and fifty pound televisions, rags, old clothes, lamps, pizza boxes, and used syringes that White finally speaks up. 

 

He merely quotes Spidey. A single word. 

 

[Liar.]

 

_{Liar, liar, pants on fire!}_   


 

When Wade looks down at his phone and sees the date, the number 13 blinking back at him, Wade takes one of the many guns stuffed into his old couch, points the barrel under his chin, and pulls the trigger. 

 

When he comes back to, the sun is rising through the window, there are four hundred and ninety four dollars on his busted up living room table, along with a half eaten pizza and a receipt from Pizza Royals for five dollars and fifty five cents. There is a near scrawl on the back of his unwanted receipt that reads:  _ I left the spare change in the tip jar. I also didn't mean to intrude on your… personal time, and I thought you died but you started growing back pieces of your skull and I may or may not have screamed, but I wouldn't mind seeing you around, I guess. To thank you. For saving my life. I realize now that I failed to do that before. I spend most nights on shady rooftops in queens if you want to see me again. Or not. Whatever. See you around? Also, I never did get your name. -Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman. _

 

And Spiderman probably only feels pity for Deadpool, a man who is so obviously depressed and hyperactive at once. He probably has no real intention of speaking to him ever again. 

 

But somehow, even with the boxes chatting away in his head and the fact that it's been two years, five months, and fourteen days, Wade finds himself smiling and singing along to the endless list of Yellow's special brand of karaoke. 

 

And then, later on when Yellow points out that Wade chased after Spidey like an Alpha would chase his intended Omega, Wade freezes up and wonders what the  _ fuck _ is wrong with him and more importantly, what kind of Alpha runs away from a challenge instinctually? 

 

Granted, there's no way Spidey knew he was an omega. He wouldn't have run away from that challenge if he did, he would have laughed at Wade instead, as any Alpha would. But… the ease of the interaction, the fact that hardly any violence or force was used is… the most confusing thing Wade's ever encountered. 

 

The Alpha was civil. Even injured and starved and smelling like confusion and growing panic, Spidey didn't try to kill him, or challenge him, or threaten him,  _ or anything _ . 

 

Even though he has a job to do, and even though his curiosity is clawing its way through his stomach, he avoids going out in the city at night at all costs. 

 

And it's because of this anxious, clueless decision, that he goes to the grocery store at eight in the morning for some pop tarts and cherry coke and promptly drops his basket when he smells  _ spice, warmth, fire _ from aisle nine. 

 

[Don't look at him, fuck,  _ don't look at him-] _

 

{Do it! Do it!  _ Do it now! Do it! Do it now!} _

 

And then the choice is snatched away from him, because a pale hand is wrapping around the handle of his basket, warm hazel brown eyes are staring back at him, thin eyebrows are furrowed in concern, and a pretty pink mouth is asking him in a recently familiar voice, “Are you okay?” 

 

“No,” he blurts out, and then he  _ runs _ , basket and pop tarts be  _ damned, _ he'd rather die. He runs because he used scent blockers but they usually last him half a day now and it's only been an hour since he injected them and  _ somehow he can feel them failing. _ He can feel his heat coming, building up slowly in his veins, and he doesn't know why because it's not due for another week but he steals a car and  _ limps _ his way into his house, gun ready in his palm, eyes trained on his door. No one's ever mating him again.  _ No one. _

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes Spidey didn't flinch away from his scars, and it's irrelevant, but- 

 

{A pretty Alpha looked at our face and  _ didn't throw up!} _

 

He says this, as if it's a glorious development. 

 

It is not. 

 

It's fucking  _ not. _

  
Even if somewhere deep down he wishes it  _ could be. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAANNDDD here we go. By the way, comments breathe LIFE into me. So, thank you for reading and following this fic.


End file.
